


She's beauty and she's grace (she'll punch you in the face)

by yellowteapots



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Beauty Pageants, F/M, Miss Congeniality AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:04:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowteapots/pseuds/yellowteapots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Miss Congeniality AU where FBI Agent Clarke Griffin must pose as a Beauty Pageant contestant in order to foil a terrorist plot along with her partner in (solving) crime, Agent Blake. </p><p>"Attention. Attention. All hair removal units, wax, electrolysis, laser...to commence at 2300 hours."</p><p>Clarke waddles out of the prepping area swearing, cucumbers over her eyes and face pack on. Even with the green goop covering her face, Bellamy can still see the look of pain that contorts her face, he shoots Miller a quizzical look.             </p><p>"Bikini wax." The other man confirms.</p><p>"Nobody said this job was easy Clarke". Bellamy remarks smugly, taking a large bite out of his meatball sub. Clarke thinks for a moment how satisfying it would be to beat him to death with the piece of celery Miller had given her to eat. She thought better of it though, she didn't want to be stuck doing paperwork until the nuclear apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The botched job

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the lovely underbellamy on tumblr who asked for a Miss Congeniality Bellarke AU, so here it is.  
> It's going to be in chapters so it's easy for me to update it and read because I have a feeling this may be a long one. Unbeta'd.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it.

It wasn't unusual for the boys in her class to be fighting. As the oldest and the biggest of them, Clarke thinks that he was probably held back a year or two, John liked to throw his weight around and pick on the younger boys. She was never one who could stand by and watch someone get hurt, especially if she had it in her power to stop them. 

 

Even at nine years old Clarke Griffin knew she wanted to protect others, which was exactly the reason she marched over to the fighting boys, stopping above the brawling pair with her hands firmly on her hips and a pointed, “Problem, gentlemen?”

 

“Hey, dork-brain!” John snarled, sticking his tongue out at her. “If you weren't a girl, I'd beat your face off too.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well, if _you_ weren't a girl, I'd beat _your_ face off." Clarke huffed, sending the best death glare she could muster in John's direction.

 

John looks affronted, “You're calling me a girl?”

 

“You called me one first!”

 

“Oh, you asked for it Griffin.” he smirks and she can tell he's about to throw a punch her way, so she ducks and sends his fist colliding with the lamppost which had been behind her. 

 

John thuds to the floor and she stands there, eyebrow cocked, challenging him to try it again. When he doesn't she just stamps her foot just shy of the spot between his legs. “Now get out of here!” Then she turns to Finn as the boy picks himself off the floor, sheepish expression on his face as a group of their classmates snigger that he had to be 'saved by a girl' as if that's such a bad thing. “You should just forget them, they're only jealous of you because you're funny and kind. And, um, girls like that. ”

 

“What girls?” Finn asks, brushing off his jeans.

 

Clarke can feel herself blushing, “Lots of girls. I mean... _ I _ like you.”

 

“I don't like you. Now everybody thinks I need a girl to fight for me.” he scowls.

 

She can feel the anger bubbling up inside her at the way he sneers 'girl', she's fed up of hearing it as if it's some kind of insult. She can either choose to turn and walk away, or she can sock him in the nose. Now a mature lady would never use her fists, Clarke thinks, but then again she's a stubborn nine year old with anger issues so she rams the heel of her right hand into his nose and then watches as he runs off. “Wimp!”

 

\---

 

Ten years later, Clarke finds herself sat in the bar, pretending to read Oppenheimer's Atom and Void. Even if there wasn't a camera hidden in the spine of her book, she still wouldn't be reading it – she'd already read it through cover to cover in high school and that wasn't an experience that Clarke cared to repeat. As it was, she held the book in such a way that it was pointing at the table across from her, recording the two men who were bartering in Russian. Her unit had been on the tail of the gang for weeks, waiting for the perfect opportunity to bust them, each member waiting in position as she sent the footage from her book straight through to the undercover FBI van which was parked just around the corner.

 

“Moe and Larry in the house.” She muttered superstitiously into the pages of her book, the microphone picking up her voice and playing it to Special Agent Jaha, who was holed up in the back of the van surveying her every move. She could hear him through her earpiece commanding the other operatives to move into position, stationing them so they were scattered both in and around the bar, each disguised so that none of them looked out of place.

 

Glancing around the room,Clarke notices another man, dressed all in back – suit looking particularly expensive, walking in, carrying a briefcase. As he greets the other men around the table, Clarke can't help but think that she could never justify sending the kind of money that went into buying that suit on her own appearance.

 

“The Three Stooges are all in place.” She murmurs taking a bite out of her sandwich and leaning her back against the booth, never taking her eyes off the men.

 

“Check it out, Ivan's packing...” she hears through her ear, as Ivan Grigovic flashes an envelope of money from the inside of his jacket pocket. Monty's puns were never appropriate when they're on a case but Clarke can't help but think that it wouldn't be the same without them.

 

She tilts the camera, watching the monitor instilled inside the book, ensuring she captures the brief case being place on the table. She waits for Jaha's confirmation that the image has been sent through.

 

“Griffin, waiting for visual confirmation on the disc.”

 

“No disc yet, sir.”She replies, straining her eyes as she tries to see what the men were passing between them.

 

As soon as the Man In Black clicks open the case, offering the contents up to Ivan, she reports it to her superior. “Suitcase is opening, I have visual on the discs”.

 

“Good job, Griffin.” Jaha says, before barking his next order. “We're moving in!” 

 

It takes mere seconds for Agents to begin flooding into to the room, some coming in from the kitchen, others from the street and one or two others from various tables around the establishment.

 

“FBI! Get down!” Bellamy Blake shouts, storming into the room dressed like a homeless man – Clarke thinks this disguise was pretty weak, you could still see his defined muscles straining against the cotton of his shirt so it would be hard to believe he was actually anything other than fighting fight. He has his gun trained on the table in question and she thinks that if he wasn't such a jackass then she could find him quite attractive. 

 

These thoughts flick through her head in mere seconds and before she even has time to process what she is doing, she has her handgun out and is part of a circle surrounding the gang. 

 

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” Jaha commands, motioning for the men to put there hands in the air.

 

Suddenly, one of the men is collapsing, clutching his throat as he turns purple. She knows immediately from her first aid training that he's choking so she rushes forward, protocol be damned, to help him. 

 

“Stay where you are Griffin.” Jaha yells.

 

“But, Sir, he's turning purple!”she tries to edge towards the casualty some more, medical training kicking in.

 

“Until we secure, nobody moves, got that?”

 

“But -”

 

“No 'but's, he's still armed.”

 

She can tell she only has a second or two before it's too late so she decides to bite the bullet and starts to help the man. “No, sir. He's not gonna die like this. He's not good enough for that. His victims didn't get a chance to choke on a peanut, did they, sir?” 

 

Before she can even register what's happening, Clarke finds herself being pulled backwards, her arms held restrained her back and the barrel of a gun pressed to her forehead “Drop the guns or I'll kill her.” 

 

And no. Clarke is not being the damsel in distress. She's not giving Blake or an of the other Agents that satisfaction. Clarke knows more than her fair share of self defence – it was one of her favourite parts of her training – so she has no trouble at all disarming the man.

 

In the scuffle though, one of the men breaks the circle and heads out of the room through the kitchen. Clarke hears shots and she can feel her heart sinking – how could she have been so stupid? She had all the intel on the men and she'd blown it because she'd been to stubborn to listen to orders. She'd been reckless and it was going to cost them the case. She pins Ivan down against the table, pressing a little harder than necessary on his shoulder as she pulls out her cuffs. 

 

“Targets out the back.” she hears through her earpiece.

 

“Already on it.” It's Blake who replies and Clarke notices for the first time that he'd already left the room.

 

She hears a loud clatter coming from the back of the restaurant and minutes later she's greeted with the smug face of Bellamy Blake as he leads in the would-be-escapee, already handcuffed. Trust him to swoop in the second she makes a mistake to mussel in and take the glory.

 

It had always been this way, ever since Clarke had joined A.R.K. She and Bellamy were constantly vying to one up the other, each wanting to finally be put in charge of a case. It seemed a near impossible task though, to beat Blake that is, and Clarke couldn't help but feel flustered whenever he had something to gloat about and she could tell this was going to be one of those times.

 

“Let's get that ambulance in here! Now!” 

 

Clarke's head whips around and she sees Jaha crouched over Jasper, pressing a napkin to a wound in – what looks like – his shoulder. She can see the way the cotton is slowly turning crimson and she feels a wave of nausea threaten to swallow her up, knowing that it was her fault. 

 

That night she goes home and cries. She cries and takes her frustrations out on her punch bag, pummelling it within an inch of it;s life. She chastises herself for behaving so stupidly, if only she'd listened to Jaha and Jasper would be fine and not plugged up to some IV somewhere. 

 

 


	2. I know just the girl

“What's going on? Where's Jaha?” Clarke asks as soon as she walks in, papers tucked under her one arm, handful of paper bags in the other with unbrushed hair scraped back into a messy bun.

 

Bellamy shrugs, “Forget about him. Could we put out an APB on my Frappuccino?” he adds sarcastically, knowing full well that she's spent most of her morning in a line in Starbucks. Her badge only allows so many privileges and cutting the line in rush hour is not one of them.

 

“Don't worry, Blake, it's in the bag.” she mutters, shoving one of the paper bags in his direction. “Has he said anything about last night?”

 

“Just relax. Don't annoy him. Don't say anything. Don't argue. Do all that and you'll be fine.” Bellamy remarks, taking his drink and heading over to his desk.

 

She strides after him, perching on the corner of the table. “I don't argue, Bellamy. I never argue. When do I ever argue?”

 

He doesn't reply, he just raises his eyebrow and takes a sip of his Frappuccino, a piece of foam staying behind as he retracts the cup. She definitely doesn't watch as his tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

 

“I mean, there might be the odd occasion where I _might_ have a heated discussion with somebody.”

 

He tries to turn to his computer screen. “Is this you _not_ arguing? Because, frankly, you suck at it.”

 

She was just about to come up with a witty retort when the door to the room swings open and everyone in the room falls silent.

 

“Good morning, everybody.” Jaha greets them all as he makes his way through the door and to the front of the briefing room. He scans the group of agents gathered before him, making sure they are all present before he begins. “I know you're all concerned about Jordan's condition,” he shoots a pointed look in Clarke's direction, turning her cheeks scarlet. She doesn't even have time to hide her embarrassment before he continues. “So I'm more than happy to report to you all that Jasper's gonna be just fine. He'll be out of the hospital in two weeks and, er, he says he's expecting lots of gifts.”

 

There's a rumble of relieved laughter, then, and Clarke feels a weight lift from her shoulders knowing that Jasper was going to be okay. Even though she'd made a terrible decision the day before, at least Jasper was going to be okay.

 

“Okay, everybody that's good news out of the way, now for the bad. We got another letter from the Grounder. Now, you all know this guy never works the same way twice...Arson, explosives, poison. The only thing we've been able to work out for sure is that the moment he strikes that's when all the incomprehensible riddles suddenly make sense.” He pulls out an enlarged copy of the letter and pins it to the board behind him. “Hopefully this time we'll get a lead before somebody gets killed. In the meantime...” Jaha looks over toward Bellamy's desk, “...Blake, get a team together.”

 

To his credit, he looks taken aback for a change. “Sir, you want me to take point?”

 

Jaha nods, dropping the rest of the file on his desk. “For five years you've waiting for the opportunity. Last night, you earned it. Pick yourself a team, Blake, before I change my mind.”

 

As soon as Jaha makes his way out of the room Clarke heard Bellamy asking, “Who's buying me lunch?”

 

He could be so arrogant that it made Clarke's blood boil, but she had no time to dwell on his ass hole tendencies this time. Rolling her eyes as Bellamy tried to catch her eye, Clarke hurried out of the door, picking up her coffee as she went. Blake – uh he was so in love with himself sometimes, no one could rile her up this this quite like he could.

 

She clears her throat to get Jaha's attention. “Sir, I would like to talk about what happened last night. I know I didn't exactly follow orders but-”

 

“'Exactly' follow orders? There's no such thing, Clarke. You either follow orders or you don't, you should know that.” he replies, still walking down the corridor.

 

“No arguments, sir. None whatsoever.” she replies, bowing her head.

 

Jaha sighs, “Until the hearing, I'm sorry to say that you're out of the field.”

 

“Sir, I understand that the hearing is totally warranted.” So much for not arguing, she thinks, pausing. She wants to be able to restrain herself, but before she realises what she's doing she finds herself saying, “But, wouldn't I be better on the Grounder case? I mean I have a background in profiling and decoding...”

 

“Griffin.” he warns sternly.

 

“I could really contribute to the case.” she pushes, as they round a corner. They're almost at his office now.

 

“What? Like you contributed last night? By putting both yourself and other agents in jeopardy?” he shakes his head again, stops walking and faces her. “Look, I'll save the rest for the review board. For the mean time you will bury yourself under a mountain of paperwork. Discussion is over.”

 

\---

 

It's one of those days that leave Clarke questioning her place in the world, well perhaps not the world but definitely in the Bureaux. She's sat on a barstool in the cafeteria re-evaluating her life choices whilst eating a burger, trying not to let the ketchup fall out and stain her copy of the case file. Again. The first time could be considered an accident, any more red smudges on her papers could be considered as misconduct...especially if Special Agent Blake had anything to say about it.

 

“Connor, give me a pint would you?” she asks the man behind the bar once she's polished off the last of her lunch.

 

He looks up from where he'd been wiping down the counter, “Rough day, huh?”

 

“The worst.”

 

“Sure you want a whole one?” he asks making his way over to the fridge, he knows the deal by now.

 

She nods, “Yeah. Hit me big time.”

 

“Hey, Einstein. If you figure out that Grounder letter, let me know okay?” Clarke doesn't even need to turn around to know whose face belongs to the voice, she can already feel a plethora of comebacks bubbling up to the surface.

 

She swivels round, figuring that she can't exactly ignore him until he leaves, like she normally would with any other problem that she had, and plasters on a sickly sweet smile. “Congratulations on the op, Bellamy. It's a big shot for you.”

 

“Thanks.” he grins, propping himself up against the bar. “How are you doing after yesterday? You okay?”

 

“I'm good.” she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction by admitting that she's far from it. Then she realises that Connor' has placed her pint in front of her and she thinks that it could be worse.

 

Bellamy chuckles, gesturing to the pint. “You're starting early today.”

 

She laughs, picking up a spoon and taking a mouthful of the ice cream. “Yeah, I'm planning on getting absolutely chip-faced. Want to join me?”

 

“I'd love to, but I have a pressing social engagement.” he says, half turning. “Hey, Roma!”

 

Clarke doesn't even try to suppress an eye roll as she sees a tall brunette strolling towards them, hair braided perfectly and looking like she'd just stepped out of a magazine – a far cry from Clarke's own appearance, not that it mattered to her. She was comfortable and to her that was all that mattered.

 

The girl, Roma, kisses Bellamy on the cheek but the man doesn't seem at all interested, he's still looking at Clarke with a smug smile on his face. She tries to ignore it by turning away and returning her attention to the case in front of her.

 

“So, Bell, are most of the people in here agents?” Bellamy's date asks, Clarke has already forgotten her name. Not that it matters, she couldn't care less.”

 

She can see him nodding in her peripheral vision. “As a matter of fact, here's an agent.” she can hear the self-satisfaction in his voice, knowing that he's found the perfect chance to mess with her. “Clarke Griffin.”

 

Clarke smiles quickly, wanting to get back to her work but not wanting to ignore them, giving Bellamy exactly what he wanted.

 

“Roma Carter.” the woman smiles, extending her hand. Clarke shakes it grudgingly.

 

“Roma is an undergrad at Mecca, she's doing a paper on law enforcement.” he explains. “I'm helping her get an inside look.”

 

“I bet she'll do the same for you.” Clarke mutters under her breath. The twitch of a smile on Bellamy's lips shows her that he heard but if Roma did, she doesn't let Clarke know.

 

“Clarke, I would _love_ to get a woman's point of view.”

 

“You're barking up the wrong tree. Right, Griffin?” Bellamy snarks. She doesn't respond, it's better that way.

 

Roma points at Clarke's feet, “Do all the women have to wear those really masculine shoes?”

 

“Uh, no. I get these made special by the guy that put the tattoo on my ass.” she's only half joking. She snorts as Roma pulls a look of disgust that she quickly tries to mask.

 

“We'll, uh, leave you alone with Ben and Jerry.” Bellamy laughs nervously, glancing between the two women. “Catch you later.” he adds over his shoulder as he ushers Roma towards the door.

 

 

\---

 

“I figured it out!” Clarke beams, slapping down her file on Bellamy's desk the following day. She points to all her red annotations. “First off, I tried to create a content-based pattern, you know, so it'd be similar to his previous letters.”

 

Bellamy nods along, at first Clarke thinks he looks impressed but then again she thinks it could just be trapped wind. It wouldn't be the first time. “Well...?”

 

“But this time, he used a signifier.” she sits on his desk, reaches over and grabs a highlighter then begins to scribble under certain words. She's acutely aware how close his hand is to her thigh, so she shuffles over a bit before she continues. “In this case, the word 'miss'...and the subsequent letters here and here.”

 

“Griffin, okay, you're not even on the case just drop it.”

 

“Look, I know, all right?” She's not letting him get one over on her like this, not when she's sat on information like this. “Will you _let_ me finish, please? It's the Miss United States Pageant.”

 

This time, he doesn't even look up from the screen of his computer. “Yeah. Intelligence thought so too.”

 

\---

 

Strictly speaking, she's not supposed to be in the meeting at all but she finds herself there anyway, rooting through the filing cabinet while Bellamy and his group of Agents are busy going over what they'd done so far. This isn't perhaps as coincidental as Clarke would like to suggest, she figures that if she's quiet as possible she can listen to what they're saying and maybe interject with her own theories. This way it's _almost_ above board, she's not actively involved in the case, and Jaha can't exactly object to her doing some filing.

 

“What have we got to go on?” Bellamy asks, swivelling his desk chair around so that he's facing the room.

 

“The Miss United States contest from San Antonio, Texas.” Monty replies, bringing up a map on his computer. “The pageant normally lasts three days-”

 

“Three _days_?” Clarke rolls her eyes at Bellamy's question, would it have killed him to actually have put a little effort into researching the background of the pageant?

 

“Yeah.” Monty shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Day one, you've got your preliminaries and conferences, day two, it's the talent rounds and more conferences and press releases and day three it's the live telecast of the final. It's a logistical nightmare.”

 

“Not just a babe-fest.” Lincoln jokes, nudging Monty but the later doesn't look at all impressed.

 

“Jesus, guys, we've only got a few hours.” Bellamy chides, side-eyeing their newest recruit. “Okay, gentlemen. Where do we start?”

 

No-one speaks, so Clarke assumes they've all drawn a blank. “You might want to call the network and then the pageant people. Set up a meeting with them. Because you'll probably need their cooperation at some point.”

 

“Yeah, I can do that.” Monty chirps, smiling at Clarke.

 

Bellamy turns around in his chair and shoots a less than impressed look in her direction. “Let's start with that then. What about jurisdiction?”

 

She thinks about pretending to file some more but clearly this group of men are getting nowhere without her. “Well, the Grounder has been ours from the start.”

 

He looks like he's going to stop her at first, but them seems to think better of it.

 

“You might want to call San Antonio. Grease some wheels so they like us, right, that way when we need the manpower and tech they'll offer it up without much hassle.”

 

“Good idea, Clarke. But I feel like I should remind you just how off this case you are. If Jaha finds out you've been in here, you'll be out the door so fast your feet won't touch the floor.”

 

So she ruffles a few pages and opens and closes a few draws, trying to keep up the pretence. “Technically, I'm filing. See?”

 

“Anyway.” Bellamy begins, side-eyeing her. “Given what we already know about The Grounder he loves to make a splash. So we can assume that his target will be public...like one of these outdoor prelims or maybe a TV broadcast. Monty?”

 

“Yeah, there's going to be plenty of telecasters at the convention centre, I'll see if we can get a live feed from the camera's, pull a few strings here and there. We're also gonna need surveillance on the interior perimeter...”

 

“We'll need more, though. There's a million places...only these bra stuffers can go: backstage areas, hotel rooms....” she paused. “I think we need to get somebody in there.”

 

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.”

 

Monty looks up from where he's been furiously typing, “Maybe she's right though.”

 

Bellamy sighs and Clarke can't imagine why it sounds so long suffering. “Okay, so the general consensus is that we're going to need someone undercover.”

 

“Good idea, boss.” Monty smiles at Bellamy then slyly turning to give Clarke a thumbs up.

 

“As it happens...” Bellamy starts, smirk already back in it's usual place. “I think I've got just the girl.”

 

Clarke has a feeling she's not going to like where he's going with this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading :) I hope you're all enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it! 
> 
> Any other AU's you'd like written? Drop me a line on tumblr (yellowteapots.tumblr.com)


	3. Just the girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is a lot later than I promised in the comments but I've had a busy weekend with work (I know, excuses excuses!). Sorry again but I hope this chapter makes up for it and that it's worth the wait :)

They're all gathered around Monty's desk, chairs scattered around as the Agents all peer at the screen. For the past half an hour or so they've been pulling up the profiles of all the trained female field agents trying to find the perfect lady to go undercover at the pageant, some of the men had even raided the vending machine and were now passing packets of crisps and sweets back and forth between themselves.

 

“If you think that's good, check this out.” Monty beams, clicking a few buttons and opening up a new programme. “Compliments of the 'Dress Up Sally' web site.”

 

Clarke decides that she won't even ask how Monty happened across this particular site, there have been one too many times where she'd found out rather more than she'd bargained for. She puts it down to avid curiosity but, then again, he may just have found the website for this very purpose however unlikely that seems.

 

The next picture Monty pulls up is of Agent Harper, a few of the men let out slow wolf-whistles and Clarke shakes her head – they're meant to be doing their job and all they seem to be doing is drooling over their colleagues. He hits the enter button and the programme begins to work its way down the picture, starting from the top down to the bottom, and changes Agent Harpers grey business suit into a bikini, complete with floral hair accessories.

 

“What did I tell you? Hot, right?” Bellamy smirks, pointing at the screen.

 

“Oh yeah.” Lincoln smiles, slapping Bellamy on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner.

 

Clarke snorts, “You've got a little problem, though. Don't you think, Blake?”

 

Bellamy shoots her a look, “Are you mad, she's perfect!”

 

He was right. She had all the right credentials, plenty of experience and certainly looked as if she'd be at home as a beauty contestant. On paper Agent Harper was perfect for the op, well, except for one thing.

 

“Look to the left. Down...down....” She watches as his eyes follow her instructions, reading down the page. His face is a picture when he sees it.

 

“'On maternity leave'?” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

 

“There you go.” Clarke can't help the smirk that finds its way onto her lips. “Bad luck, Bellamy.”

 

Bellamy gets up from his chair and begins to pace up and down the room. He pauses mid-step and turns to Monty. “Can you do a search? Female field agents under 30. And we'll see where we go from there.”

 

A few agents later, the crowd around the computers has only grown and there are either cheers of approval or shouts of disapproval as the programme runs through the list of field agents. Some had looked passable in 'Dress-Up Sally's swimwear, others – and Clarke feels her inner feminist cringe at her own thought – would have been better suited to a burlap sack. Even though she could feel the disapproval bubbling away inside, she couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination as the programme worked it's way through more and more agents.

 

“You think that's good?” Bellamy asks the group. “Then check this out.” He keys in a few letters and a picture of Jaha pops up on the screen. Most of the room roar with laughter, knowing exactly what's going to happen next. “I've got the winner right here.” He hits enter and the programme begins to work its magic, scanning down the image, transforming his suit into a floral two-piece and matching sarong.

 

There are a few titters but no-one laughs, leaving Bellamy confused. “Right guys?”

 

Clarke almost wants to tell him, emphasis on almost. She's biting her lip to hold in the laughter when the penny finally drops for Bellamy.

 

She can see the colour drain from his face. “God...He's right behind me, isn't he?”

 

“Not really my colour, is it Blake?” Jaha dead pans, arms folded across his chest and exasperated look plastered on his face.

 

“Sir, we were just...looking for someone to go undercover at the pageant.” Bellamy trips over his words, cheeks turning a rather fetching shade of fuchsia.

 

“And I'm the best we have? It doesn't inspire much confidence.” he rolls his eyes, then turns to address the crowd who are all trying their best to avoid eye contact and to slink away unnoticed. “As for the rest of you, don't you have work to get back to?” 

 

She thinks she got away with it as he begins to leave the room. He doesn't even look around when he says, “Griffin, shouldn't you be at a desk?”

 

“Uh, yes, of course, sir.” she mutters as the door slams behind him.

 

“You don't say anything? You guys just sat there and let me make myself look like an idiot in front of him.” Bellamy fumes, arms flailing around.

 

She scowls even though she knows she had ample time to warn him. “What? Do I have eyes in the back of my head now or something?

 

He flops down into his seat. “He was standing right behind me.”

 

“What were we meant to say, Blake?” she presses. “Stop being an ass-”

 

“Wait!” Monty almost yells, holding his hand up between the bickering pair.

 

“What?” They both turn to see what Monty was staring at. “How about this one?”

 

Clarke turns and on the screen is a picture of her, hair uncharacteristically brushed , looking smart in a navy suit. She'd actually made an effort the day that picture had been taken but, still, she couldn't see herself being a suitable candidate.

 

Bellamy snorts. “Are you kidding? It's Griffin.”

 

She decides not to be offended by that. “Cut it out Monty. You know Jaha's right, maybe we should get back to work.”

 

He hits enter anyway and the three of them watch as Clarke's pant suit begins to change into a maroon cut-out swim suit. Bellamy lets out a slow whistle so she clips him on the bad of the head before he starts getting any ideas.

 

“Very funny but I've got a pile of paperwork the size of the Empire State Building with my name on it.”

 

“Hold on. In all seriousness, Griffin, that's not half bad.” Bellamy smiles.

 

“Hold on, nothing. You might want to hit the save button because you won't be seeing that again.”

 

\---

 

She's in the gym at the Bureaux, taking out her frustration on an armless torso. She's been working up quite a sweat and is pretty much ready to punch anyone or anything that comes within ten feet of her.

 

So Bellamy Blake has definitely picked the wrong time to start messing with her. He strides in, making a beeline for her across the room.

 

“Come on Clarke, you could do this, what do you say?” he asks, waving a Miss United States leaflet in her face. 

 

“No freaking way.” she says throwing a punch right into the dummy's chin, not even hiding the fact that she's picturing Bellamy's face.

 

“But why not?” he presses, holding the dummy still for her whilst she continues to give it the beating of its life.

 

“I won't parade around in a swimsuit like some bimbo named -” she puts on a particularly southern twang “- Clarissa Lou Freebush, and all she wants is world peace.” she slams her foot into the abdomen of the dummy, relishing the feeling of the blood pumping through her veins.

 

“It wouldn't be like that.” he appeals, moving around and leaning an arm around the shoulders of the dummy as if it were an old friend. “You'd be on the undercover team.”

 

“Right. In a thong.” she snarks, edging round the dummy and landing a kick to the ribs which sends the dummy careening into his side.

 

He moves again so he's still in her way. “In a tasteful one-piece!You do a few butt-shaping exercises...tighten this up -” he slaps to her butt “and you could pull this off.” he says giving her a once over.

 

She closes her eyes and tries to count to ten, tries to hold in her anger. She gets to four before she launches herself at him, holding him in a tight headlock. 

 

“Is it because Jaha hates me? Are you just trying to get me back for not telling you he was there? Or is it, like, a woman thing – are you _threatened_ by me?” she asks, tightening her grip as they stumble towards the crash mats. 

 

She's pretty sure he's going to give up any second. That's not quite the case, however, as Bellamy manages to take full advantage of the situation he uses their position to grab at her thigh and send her falling into the mats below them. She's only getting angrier, wanting to sock him in the jaw if he carries on like this.

 

It's Bellamy's turn to get on the defensive. “Don't kid yourself. Nobody thinks of you that way.”

 

She uses her position to kick out his legs from underneath him. Once he's on the floor she jumps onto him, pinning down his arms. “He's punishing me, isn't he?” she practically growls into his ear, both of them are breathing heavily with the exertion.

 

“I had to beg him to let you do this.” he somehow manages to flip them over so that he's the one on top. “That's right. Like it or not, you screwed up.”

 

Even though she knows it's the truth she feels the white hot anger rush through her and before she knows it the pair of them are rolling around the floor of the gym, fighting for dominance as they bickered and tried to get the upper hand.

 

Her years of training give her a momentary advantage and she finds herself with Bellamy's head between her thighs. If either of them are equal parts surprised and aroused the don't show it. She's certainly not enjoying the position above him as she slams her hands down either side of his head. “This may come as a surprise to you, Bellamy, but I've never been in a beauty pageant. I don't even own a dress. I don't even own a brush.” she sighs at herself and sits up, why would you admit that she thinks to herself.

 

Bellamy uses her lapse in concentration to wrap his legs around her waist and flips her onto her back. She can't help but note that his head is still firmly wedged between her legs. “Which part of that is supposed to shock me?”

 

“Okay, okay.” she pants. “Let's suspend reality for a second and pretend I said yes.”

 

He looks hopeful, but it's not like he's convinced her.

 

“I've got to do everything? Like the whole big hair and the make-up...” 

 

“Damn right. Don't forget the spinning, the twirling, the smiling, the cute little tap number.” he's only half joking she realises.

 

There's quite a crowd gathered around them now, watching them wrestle. 

 

She hears Lincoln mutter, “Fifty bucks on Blake.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Monty shrug, “I don't know. She's got rage...” Clarke slams her elbow into Bellamy's ribs. “I'll take that bet.”

 

She thinks she's got the upper had then and begins to relax, only for Bellamy to flip her over his shoulder and pin her to the floor. She lies there, panting, as he stands up and puts his arms in the air as if he's waiting for some applause. Much to Clarke's annoyance, he gets it.

 

“So you're saying...” she takes a deep breath to compose herself, feeling the nausea rising in her stomach. “I _have_ to wear the bathing suit?”

 

He stands over her, bending over slightly with a hand on each knee. His smile is smug. “Yeah, you have to wear the bathing suit.”

 

“Okay.” she says, feigning resignation. She let's him think that he's won for a couple of seconds before kicking his feet out from underneath him, leaving the pair of them sprawled out on the floor of the gym, trying to catch their breath. “Where am I gonna put my gun?”

 

He smirks, “No place I want to know about.”

 

\---

 

They are walking down a busy high street, yellow cabs and other cars swarming alongside them as families and couples scurry around armed with shopping bags and several people shove past them, swinging their briefcases behind them. Clarke thinks she has more in common with the second type of person, much preferring her own company and her job over sentimental connections and family ties.

 

“What could possibly motivate anybody to enter a beauty pageant is beyond me” she grumbles as they are about to cross the road, holding her arm out to stop Bellamy from walking into the path of on coming traffic – she briefly think she might live to regret that one day.

 

“Oh, I don't know...maybe for the scholarship money, a chance to see the world and broaden your horizons-”

 

“So join the Marines.” Clarke shrugs as they make it to the other side of the road. “It's like feminism never even happened. Any woman that does this is catering to misogynistic Neanderthal mentality.”

 

“I dated Young Miss Vancouver once.” he smiles, taking his sunglasses out of his blazer pocket and places them on his nose.

 

She pulls a face. “Are you really that superficial?”

 

“Hard to believe, right?” he quips, raising an eyebrow.

 

They carry on down the street, weaving in between passers by and following the street signs towards the Headquarters of the Miss United States Pageant. They don't talk all that much the rest of the way there, just the odd snarky comment towards each other now and then and Clarke remembers why he annoys her so much. It's probably a good thing she doesn't feel like being with anybody that she actually likes right now.

 

\---

 

They're sat in an open office, walls covered with life-size images of previous winner of the contest. The sickly sweet smiles of bronzed beauties are starting to make Clarke feel uncomfortable, it feels as if their eyes are following her around the room, silently judging her.

 

The woman sitting opposite her gives off the same air of cool judgement, giving her dirty looks as soon as she'd walked in to the building. Diana Sydney was the kind of woman who you could tell was pretty when she was younger, not that she was all that old now, but Clarke could tell that years of primping and updating her appearance were beginning to take their toll. The blonde in her hair, from the bottle no doubt, almost covered the grey that was beginning to make an appearance.

 

Clarke tunes back into the conversation just as Bellamy is saying, “Therefore, we'd like to use one of our team undercover.”

 

Even though he's using all the charm at his disposal – even Clarke can admit that Bellamy can be pretty charming when he wants to be – Diana looks perplexed.

 

“Am I hearing this correctly?”

 

“Diana, these people want to put one of their agents in the pageant.” Marcus Kane, the other pageant host interjects.

 

She raises a long suffering eyebrow at him. “They want her to  _ win _ ?”

 

“No, ma'am.” Bellamy begins, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of him. “But we will need your help with the judging just to make sure that our agent is in the top five.”

 

Clarke sees that Diana is about the protest here but Bellamy keeps talking before she can get a word in. “That way we'll be able to have access to all the areas at all times.”

 

“Absolutely not.” Diana refuses, face full of disgust.

 

Clarke sees that Bellamy is loosing her so she decides to step in. “Miss Sydney, please, we understand how important this beauty pageant-”

 

“Excuse me.” Miss Sydney interrupts. She stands and Clarke wonders if it's a coincidence that when she does so her head lines up with the cut-out pageant winner behind her so that it looks like she's the one wearing the crown. Probably not if Clarke's right about her. “This is not a beauty pageant. This is a scholarship programme. And it has been ever since my reign. I fully intend on maintaining that credo.”

 

“Absolutely, Miss Sydney.” Bellamy says, also standing. “We're here to protect the girls...uh, women...Scholarship ladies.”

 

She sits down and raises a delicate hand to her forehead, “There's nothing more important to me than the safety of my girls. I'd rather cancel the pageant than have them blown up.”

 

“Especially without their knowledge.” Kane agrees. Clarke thinks that he probably isn't the brains of the duo given the look of derision sent his was by his college.

 

“We went to the network to try and convince them to cancel, but they refused. We can't force them.”

 

“I'm confused.” Kane holds up a hand. Clarke doesn't have trouble buying into his statement. “What state is she going to be from? All the winners have been chosen.”

 

Bellamy smiles. “We recently discovered some information about Miss New Jersey...”

 

The way he has an answer for everything is normally one of the things that irks her the most about him but this time he does. “And her performance in a little film called Arma Get It On.” Clarke adds.

 

“Was that her?” Kane asks, incredulously.

 

“Oh, yeah!” Bellamy chuckles and Clarke once again feels her eyes rolling.

 

“You seem to have everything worked out,” Diana remarks coolly. “ Do you have an agent in mind?”

 

Clarke raises her hand, not sure why she's feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

 

The host lets out a bark of laughter. Then, once she realises that Clarke isn't kidding, she slaps a hand over her mouth to hold herself back. “Uh, sorry...Let me get you Nathan Miller's number.” she holds picks up the phone, dialling an internal number. “John.” she turns back to Clarke and Bellamy. “He's our pageant consultant. Maybe he can do something to, uh, help.”

 

The pair exchange a look, seems like they'd found a way in.

 

“John!” Diana practically shouts this time, calm façade slipping for just a moment. This time she gets a response and a scruffy looking boy with a mop of unruly black hair trips into the room, shirt untucked and look of sheer boredom written across his pale face. “This is my assistant, John Murphy.”

 

The boy, John, holds up a hand in greeting but doesn't smile. “Hi, everyone.”

 

“Would you get these people Nathan Miller's number, please?” Diana asks sweetly. “And get me a spring water.”

 

John turns to leave when she adds. “And for Gods sake tuck in your shirt.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I'll be updating again on Thursday 4th and that'll be the day I'm watching the new episode so it'll be a grand day all round :)
> 
> Stay safe until the next time <3


	4. Glide, don't pick your feet up

Gentle piano music drifts across the room, waiters in crisp black tuxes weave in between the tables taking orders and topping up wine glasses. It's not just the waiting staff that are dressed to the nines, the clientèle are all in business attire or dressed up for their midday meal. Clarke feels out of place in here, her standard issue FBI waterproof coat and sunglasses are perhaps the reason for her discomfort. Or the fact that she hasn't been in a place like this since she had the argument with her mother that meant the pair hadn't spoken in years.

 

She shakes her head to rid herself of these thoughts as she and Bellamy make their way over to the Maitre'D. On Miss Sydney's recommendation they had arrange to meet Nathan Miller in his favourite restaurant – courtesy of the Bureaux, of course – in the hopes of getting him on side and convince him to mentor Clarke as she progressed through the competition.

 

“We have a reservation,” Bellamy smiles at the man behind the counter. “Under the name of Blake.”

 

The man opens up a black book, finger running down the page until he finds the right part. “Yes of course, Mr Blake, one of your party is already here.”

 

“Thank you.” Clarke smiles.

 

“Would you like me to show you to your table, Mr and Mrs Blake?”

Clarke goes to protest, wanting to set the man straight, but Bellamy has other ideas. “No thanks, we'll be able to find it.”

 

They're walking into the main restaurant when Clarke rounds on him. “Why didn't you tell him we aren't married?”

 

He simply smirks, “What's the harm? Either way, Clarke, think of it as practice. You're going to have to pretend to be someone else if we want to pull this off, so why not start now?”

 

She supposes he could be right, but instead of telling him this she just grumbles and starts to carry on into the seating area, keeping her eyes open for Miller.

 

They see a man matching Sydney's description sipping at, what looks like, a Martini whilst pouring over the lunch menu. She assumes this man, chocolatey skin and suave demeanour, is Nathan Miller. Judging from what she's heard, Clarke thinks that he'll probably pick the most expensive meal, since their meeting is being subsidised – it's certainly going to be what she's doing. He stands as they get closer to the table, and Clarke realises that he thinks the well put together couple walking in front of them are Bellamy and herself.

 

She clears her throat, “Mr. Miller. How are you?”

 

Nathan looks her up and down when he sees Clarke and a look of sheer horror takes residence on his face. “If you are Clarke Griffin, I quit here and now.”

 

“I'm, uh, having a bad hair day.” she shrugs, cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. She moves a strand of hair behind her ear. “Bad hair decade, really.”

 

Trying to smooth things over, Bellamy extends a hand with a charming smile resting on his lips. “I'm Bellamy Blake. We spoke on the phone.”

 

“Your hair _is_ perfect.” Miller replies, giving Bellamy a once over. “However, I can't accept this job. There's no way I can make this woman ready in two days.”

 

“Please, Mr. Miller, give it a chance.” Bellamy pulls out his chair with a smile – Clarke thinks she's seen a similar expression on a snake in the past. “Sit down. Have lunch. Totally on the Bureau.”

 

“I suppose that would be the civilized thing to do.” Miller smiles, still eyeing Bellamy.

 

For once, Bellamy looks uncomfortable and Clarke has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. “Actually, uh, I'll take a rain check. I've got to take care of some, uh, FBI stuff.” he looks to Clarke. “That thing I told you about that I gotta do.” He turns back to Miller. “But I'll see you later. We'll hang out.”

 

“See you later.” Clarke sends him a mock salute as Bellamy nearly trips over a table in an attempt to escape Millers advances.

 

Miller sighs, dejectedly, “What a pity...Are you hungry?”

 

“Yeah, I could eat.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yeah, that's what I said.”

 

Millers tone is matter of fact, thinly veiling his disdain. “It is always 'yes', never 'yeah'. Sit down.”

 

She does, pulling a face.

 

“Miss United States is _always_ well-spoken and polite. Do you understand?” 

 

Clarke groans.

\---

 

Clarke knows she's right about him when she sees the plate of lobster being delivered to their table.

 

\---

 

Half an hour later and they've both tucked into their meals. Miller isn't even trying to hide his disgust as he watches Clarke absolutely massacre the steak in front of her, eyebrows raised as a glob of sauce falls from the meat onto her trouser legs. He looks even more shocked, however, when she uses the corner of the table cloth to wipe of the mess.

 

He raises a hand to tall over the waiter, “Could I have another Cabernet Sauvignon, please? Another keg for you?” he adds the last part rather harshly, nodding towards the two empty bottles of beer standing next to her plate.

 

“I'm good, thanks.” her mouth is half full, but by this time Clarke's just doing these things to antagonise him further, she has no time for judgemental people. “So, how long have you been doing this pageant-training thing?”

 

“I'm sorry?” he wrinkles his nose. “What was the question? I was distracted by the half-masticated cow that's currently rolling around in your wide-open trap.”

 

“Excuse me? What the hell is your problem?” she nearly yells, slamming her knife and fork against the table.

 

“Problem?”

 

“Yeah...” she shakes her head. “I mean, yes. Have I offended you in some way? Because, quite frankly, you've been completely antagonistic to me from the second I walked in.”

 

He pointedly ignores the question, reply with one of his own. “Did you know I was once the most sought-after, highly paid consultant in pageant history?”

 

“I had no idea.” she at least tries to make it sound sincere.

 

“Every season, girls would plead with me to train them. Ten out of eleven years my girls were crowned.” his eyes get all misty, pride clear in his voice. “The year we lost, the winner was a deaf-mute. You just can't beat that.”

 

Clarke takes another bite of her steak and then begins to run her finger along the top of her glass of water.

 

“Then in 2008 my girl froze like a puddle halfway through her aria from La Bohème.” he leans forward. “Afterwards, she told a reporter from Pageant Magazine that I was a perfectionist who had harangued her to within an inch of her sanity.”

 

She tries to look sympathetic but it was easy to believe that it had been the case. All the while she still let her finger glide over the lip of her glass, a note sounding as they were speaking.

 

“Of course, after that article came out nobody wanted me.”

 

“Okay. With all due respect here why did Miss Sydney suggest you?”

 

“Because I am the best.” he says with a flourish of his hands, pausing deliberately after each word for effect. Then his face falls slightly, “Or perhaps it's because everyone else worth having had a contestant. They had their Southern belles, their Midwestern farmers' daughters. Spunky Western cowgirls. And I have...” he pauses as she starts to pick at her teeth with her fork, “...Dirty Harriet.”

 

She snorts, still playing with the glass. The silvery note getting louder with every passing second.

 

His hand shoots out and takes the glass from her, “Will you desist?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yes.” he instructs sharply.

 

\---

 

The leave the restaurant, Clarke striding ahead with Miller following. If she's telling the truth, she's glad to be out of there. She's still stuck with this self important consultant though, suppressing the urge to punch him in the neck with every sly comment or unnecessary dig at her.

 

“Oh, my God.” Miller nearly laughs as she trips over a loose paving slab. “I haven't seen a walk like that since Jurassic Park.”

 

She whips round so that she's facing him. “Well, you know what, it's been working pretty well for me for the past 20 years, all right?”

 

“Well, glide, now. Glide.” he puts a hand on the small of her back pushing her along, using his other hand to pull up her arm. “Don't look down, don't look down.”

 

She looks up but doesn't otherwise move her head.

 

Miller sighs, “Don't look down, look up. Your chin should be parallel to the floor.” he holds his hands underneath his chin and tilts his head to the side. “Now glide. Glide.”

 

She begins to flounce down the pavement, holding her arms stiffly as she waddles along with her chin in the air. She thinks this whole display is rather ridiculous – and so do the people she's 'gliding' past if their faces are anything to go by. If this is what it takes to be a beauty queen then Clarke is glad that she prefers slouchy trousers and hoodies over ball gowns and tiaras.

 

“It's not the bloody Ice Capades.” he scalds as she twirls around, arms in the air.

 

“I'm gliding, aren't I?” she whines, knees flailing

 

He keeps an eye on her as she continues to flounce. “No, no. Don't pick your feet up.” he sighs. “Don't pick your feet up.  _ Why _ are you picking your feet up?”

 

“Because I'm preparing to run away.” she frowns.

 

“No, wait. Wait and watch me.” he strides out in front of her, moving smoothly from foot to foot. “Gliding with the left. Glide with the right. See? Glide.” he turns to face her, her eyebrows are still creased. “It's all in the buttocks. Don't I look pretty?”

 

She snorts, “It takes a very secure man to walk like that, Mr Miller.”

 

They carry on down the road, Miller gliding whilst Clarke stumbles along a pace behind him. Maybe her office shoes weren't the most suitable things to practice in, especially considering the non-existent heels. The only good thing, Clarke supposes, about the whole exercise is that she's becoming less embarrassed by the stares of passers by with every second. This can only be a good thing considering she'll be parading in front of thousands in the near future, easing herself into being the centre of unwanted attention.

 

“Roll your hips. Head up, head up. Keep gliding--” Miller instructs as they cross a road.

 

Out of nowhere a taxi horn beeps and nearly slams into her side, “Watch it Jack ass! Can't you see, I'm gliding here! What are you, blind?”

 

She can hear Miller sighing, and again she's reminded how much work they're going to have to put in in order to pull this off.

 

“Asshole!” she shouts as the taxi begins to rev its engine.

 

\---

 

Two weeks later, Jasper is safely out of hospital and Clarke finds herself sat aboard her own private plane. Granted, it isn't a jet or anything but she appreciates the gesture, it's better than the subway. Clarke even let's herself think, just for a moment, that she could get used to this sort of treatment. Maybe she'd find the whole thing a bit easier if everything was as easy as this.

 

The whole experience would have been exponentially better if she wasn't having to watch endless videos of previous pageants, revising each step and every perfectly composed smile. She was definitely going to have her work cut out for her, she could barely walk in a straight line at the best of times let alone wearing stilettos and a skin-tight ball gown.

 

“Look how she walks. She's floating.” Miller smiles, hands gesturing as the girl in the video made her way across the stage. “Lightly ascending from cloud to cloud towards heaven”

 

She snorts, “Yeah, and if he takes one look at that fake rack, he's gonna send her right back.”

 

She begins laughing at herself but Miller just rolls his eyes in despair.

 

“Oh, look, she's gonna cry again. 'If I only had a brain!'” Clarke mocks, pretending to cry.

 

“I am somewhat less than amused.” Miller scowls, getting up from his seat next to Clarke and making his way towards the back of the plane.

 

When Miller reaches the refreshment cart, Bellamy turns to him. “How's she doing?”

 

“With some intensive work...” the other man sighs, “...she'll be ready for the world's finest trailer park.”

 

Bellamy grimaces. He has faith in Clarke though, he wouldn't have suggested her for the job if he didn't think she'd be capable. He'd never tell her but he knew she was one of the best agents that the had. In truth, she should have been running this operation and she would've been if she didn't have such a damn hero complex. He knows he's going to rely on her rather heavily over the course of the next few days. He also knows that, despite their bickering and snarking, the two of them make good partners. This mission really could be the making of both of them.

 

He looks over to where she's still mocking the pageant girls and rolls his eyes. “Thank you! Thank you!” she chuckles, hand on heart.

 

“Both painful and grotesque. Isn't it?” Miller asks, nose wrinkled, as they watch Clarke thrashing about in her seat pretending to cry.

 

“Oh, my God.” Bellamy smiles to himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it's so late, I've been called in to work like a lot recently so I haven't been able to write as much as I would have liked :( Hopefully (fingers crossed here) the next chapter should be appearing on wednesday 10th.
> 
> As usual, I hope you guys enjoy the update. There hasn't been much Bellarke in this chapter but that will soon be resolved in the chapters to come :) Sorry it's not as long as it could've been but it came to a natural end where it did.


	5. She's a lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “'Operation Thong' has commenced.” he chuckles.
> 
> Her eyebrows crease, thin lines crinkling her forehead. “Why don't you just stun-gun yourself Blake?”
> 
> “I knew she'd like that one.” she hears Jasper laughing in the background.

__

 It's been a long journey, Clarke thinks as the plane touches down. Her legs are stiff and she's bursting for the toilet so she can't wait for the stairs to drop down onto the runway so she can get out ans stretch her legs.

 

“Mr Miller, we got everything you asked for.” Bellamy says as they exit the aircraft, black gym bag slung over his right shoulder. “Where do we start?”

 

“Teeth, hair, manicure, pedicure.” Miller smiles and Clarke can't help but grimace, knowing it's going to be a long night. She's never even had a manicure before and it wasn't something she was keen on starting now.

 

Clarke nearly has to run to keep up with them. “Which one first?”

 

When she doesn't get a response from either of the men, she tries again. “So, uh, what are you gonna do to my teeth?”

 

“Hopefully, remove the beer stains and the steak residue.” Miller mumbles just loud enough so that Clarke can hear him, she doesn't think it was an accident.

 

\---

 

A short while later and Clarke finds herself strapped down to a chair inside a vast aircraft hanger, a bright light shining in her eyes like an interrogation. It almost feel familiar to her but instead of an incessant stream of question, she's instead been picked at and prodded by a team of beauticians and has been for the past half an hour and she's almost at the end of her tether.

 

At the moment there's a man with a mirror and tooth pick poking around inside her mouth, not really paying much attention to the way he's invading her personal space, and she can't hold in the shriek of pain as she gets stabbed in the gum. For the third time.

 

“Can't I get some paracetamol over here?” she grumbles as the woman tugging a comb through her hair pulls too hard, nearly pulling a lump of her hair out. “Sweeney Todd, what the fuck are you doing?” she whines.

 

“Your hair should make a statement.” Miller retorts. He's standing back from the team that are swarming around her, keeping an eye on their every move. Up until now he hadn't replied to any of her protests but now he chooses to interject his opinion. She thinks – no scratch that, she knows – that he's enjoying this and she probably deserves it too since she hasn't exactly been taking his attempts to educate her seriously so far.

 

She snorts and would raise an eyebrow if they weren't currently being plucked within an inch of their life. “Yeah, as long as that statement's not, 'Thanks for the Country Music Award'.”

 

“Yeah?” the beautician behind her quirks her brow, raking the brush through another strand of knotted blonde hair. “Well, you'll be lucky if I can get this lot untangled at this rate.”

 

“No mercy.” Miller instructs and all of her beauty team nod enthusiastically. Clarke's beginning to think that they may all be enjoying this new form of torture a little too much.

 

\---

 

She can feel her eyes beginning to shut, exhaustion clawing away at her eyelids when the sound system begins to blare and a female voice begins to speak overhead.

 

“Attention. Attention. All hair removal units, wax, electrolysis, laser to commence at 2300 hours.”

 

Clarke thinks that this whole procedure is rather military considering the nature of the exercise is to turn her into a beauty queen. She feels a bit silly, really, having all these people applying treatments and pampering her since she thinks she could have achieved the same results with half the stress. She tells Miller this and he shakes his head disparagingly.

 

While some of it's nice, the massages and face packs to be specific, Clarke definitely isn't looking forward to the hair removal that was sure to commence in five minutes. She'd seen the pots of wax and other concoctions bubbling away when she arrived and she knew all to well the pain that was in store for her.

 

\---

 

After being covered in hot wax and having her hair ripped out of her body – in places that, really, Clarke thinks should only be treated nicely – she waddles out of the prepping area swearing, cucumbers on eyes and face pack on. Even with the green goop covering her face, Bellamy can still see the look of pain that contorts it, he shoots Miller a quizzical look.

 

“Bikini wax.” the other man confirms.

 

“Nobody said this job was easy Clarke”. Bellamy remarks smugly, taking a large bite out of his meatball sub. Clarke thinks for a moment how satisfying it would be to beat him to death with the piece of celery Miller had given her to eat. It would almost be worth the time in prison. Ultimately, though, she thinks better of it though, she didn't want to be stuck doing paperwork until the nuclear apocalypse.

 

She settles for launching it at the back of his head.

 

“Hey!”

 

\---

 

Bellamy assembles all the agents at the back of the hanger at around midnight. Clarke can't be sure of the time but she guesses it must be around this time since everyone else is beginning to look as haggard as she feels. She wishes it could have wait until the morning since her hair is full of different serums, foil poking out at odd angles.

 

He holds out his hand, an earpiece sitting in his palm. “Now, this earpiece will you hear anybody on our frequencies.”

 

She laughs, “I don't need it. With all this foil in my hair, I'm getting HBO.”

 

“This is a pin camera.” he continues, deciding to ignore her sarcasm. “There's an actual lens in there. It provides a digital video feed to our hookups.” he smiles, holding the small enamel pin up to her face showing how it displays the feed straight to the screen behind him. She doesn't mind admitting that it's not a pretty sight at the moment.

 

“I'm aware how video cameras work, thanks, Bellamy.” she snarks.

 

Again he elects to ignore her comment, instead handing her a cream wallets. “Here's your new I.D.s. It's your pageant identity, you might wanna learn it in case people start asking questions.”

 

“Clarissa Lou Freebush?” she asks, incredulously.

 

He smiles, lips tilting up at the edges. She notices, not for the first time, the smattering of freckles that dust over the top of his cheeks. “Yeah. I, uh, remembered you liked that.”

 

“Well, I think it's safe to say that my IQ just dropped 10 points.” she groans handing it back to him and stomps back over to the hair station, wanting desperately to get this transformation over with so she could actually get some sleep tonight.

 

She plops herself down in a chair in front of her stylist, sitting as comfortably as she can considering that her nether regions are still burning from her wax and sitting is a lot more painful than it used to be.

 

Miller inspects her, then turns to the stylist. “It needs to be more...fluffy.”

 

Then he calls over a woman who's brandishing yet another pair of tweezers. “Eyebrows. There should be two.”

 

She groans, again. She'd thought her eyebrows had already been seen to, apparently not.

 

He turns his attention back to her hair dresser. “Another two coats and a sealant should do the trick.”

 

Some weird metal contraption is pulled up behind her and she's told she has to sit still for as long as it takes. It starts to light up and Clarke resigns herself to having a sleepless night.

 

\---

 

It's dawn when they're finally finished with her and Bellamy and Monty and Jasper are waiting outside the hanger, leaning against their borrowed .undercover squad car. Monty had already been to get their morning coffee whilst they were waiting for Clarke to emerge and there was a cup waiting for her on the roof of the car.

 

“Unbelievable.” Jasper grumbles. “They've been in there all night.”

 

“Where the hell is she? What could possibly be taking this long?” Bellamy complains, knocking back the last of his drink.

 

They quiet when the doors of the hanger begin to open. Miller walks out first and then steps to the side.

 

A blonde, hair loosely curled, struts out of the building. She's wearing a tight purple strapless dress that shows off all her curves and sits in just the right place, stopping half way up her thigh. As she makes her way towards them, she pulls of her sunglasses and flicks her hair over her shoulder and Bellamy can see the pale blue eyes that he's so used to bickering with.

 

“Griffin, is that you?” he asks, jaw dropping. He has to remove his own glasses just to be sure.

 

She gives him a sharp look. “I'm in a dress, I have gel in my hair, I haven't slept. Not only that, I'm half starved and I'm armed. Don't mess with me.”

 

Clarke looks smug at the shocked expressions on her colleagues faces and she could've pulled it off without fault, instead she trips, after wobbling precariously in her heels, and falls flat on her face at Bellamys feet.

 

She gets up as quickly as she can and brushes down her knees. “I'm fine. I'm cool.” she pulls at the hem of her dress before adding, “I'm good.”

 

“Yeah, that's her.” Bellamy chuckles, throwing a congratulatory thumbs up in Millers direction. “Mr. Miller, nice work!” he turns his attention back to Clarke. “You look good, Princess.” he beams, the smile seeming warm and genuine.

 

She doesn't even comment on his new nickname for her, just smiles at him then wobbles off in her heels with another flick of her newly styled hair, highlights catching in the sunlight. “Thank you.” she calls over her shoulder.

 

“My God, I'm good.” Miller beams, taken a back.

 

\---

 

Later that day, they pull up outside the hotel in a taxi cab. Clarke takes a deep breath and readies herself before popping open the door and stepping out into the courtyard. She looks around and sees a fountain that all the other contestants seem to be milling around, she goes to walk over to them but halts herself. How anyone is going to believe that she belongs amongst them, she doesn't know. This was beginning to feel impossible.

 

She's brought out of her thoughts by Bellamy as his voice crackles through the earpiece. She subconsciously fixes her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “Okay, Clarissa Lou, listen up.”

 

She looks over to where their car is parked in the lot and nods.

 

“'Operation Thong' has commenced.” he chuckles.

 

Her eyebrows crease, thin lines crinkling her forehead. “Why don't you just stun-gun yourself Blake?”

 

“I knew she'd like that one.” she hears Jasper laughing in the background.

 

She spins on her heel about to march across the road and slap him silly, they're supposed to be taking this seriously but all they've done so far is take the piss.

 

Miller starts to fuss with her hair and her 'New Jersey' sash. “Calm down, don't forget we're acting like a lady not a barbarian.”

 

She has to bite back a scathing comment when she sees Miss Sydney approaching them.

 

“Nathan?” she shouts, waving a pale hand. She totters over from the coach, which is parked up on the other side of the courtyard, handbag too small to actually hold something useful swinging off her arm.

 

“Try not to speak.” he murmurs. “Miss Sydney, if it's possible you look more radiant than ever.” he says, kissing her outstretched hand.

 

(Clarke assumes that by 'radiant' he actually means 'past it'.)

 

“Then I guess it's possible.” She smiles at him, then turns to Clarke with a flippant 'Hello'.

 

“Hi.” she says and when she sees Miss Sydney’s double take it dawns on her that she hasn't recognised her.

 

Her eyes widen for a second.“Miss Griffin?!” she asks. Then, realising her mistake, “I mean, Miss Freebush.”

 

“Nathan, I see you haven't completely lost your touch. I'm impressed by what you've done here.” she smiles. Clarke doesn't know if she should be offended or not.

 

She directs her next compliment towards Clarke herself, “You look absolutely perfect. And you're just in time for the orientation breakfast. Oh and Miller? You'll take Miss Freebush's bags to the room? It's been a while since you've been with us...but you remember how everything goes don't you?” she adds, resting a hand on Clarkes back and leading her towards the bus.

 

She can't help but feel sorry for him and she walks off leaving him staring at her suitcases.

 

\---

 

“Ohio. Oh-hi-yo!” Murphy leers as he watches the contestants make their way onto the bus. “Washington. Nice apples.”

 

“Original.” the girl sneers. “You come up with that all by yourself?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes at him, it was disgusting the way he was leering over the girls. She's spent her life punching guys like this for their misogyny but instead she counts to ten and closes her eyes. This, however, isn't the best thing to do when you're still getting used to wearing heels and she promptly trips and falls into the side of the bus.

 

Murphy looks at her, bemused. “New Jersey? Welcome.”

 

She makes her way down the isle and she hears a few of the girls muttering things like 'who's she?' and 'have you ever seen her before?” and Clarke remembers Miller telling her how often you competed against the same people in the pageant scene. She shakes her head and puts her game face on, trying her best to exude confidence and convince the girls that she's the real deal.

 

“Oh, hey, New Jersey?” A tall girl with tan skin and chocolate brown hair waves at her and then gestures to the seat next to her. “This one's empty.”

 

“Uh, thanks.” she smiles sitting next to the girl.

 

The girl extends her hand for Clarke to shake, “I'm Raven Reyes, by the way, from Rhode Island.”

 

“Hi, I'm-”

 

“Clarissa Lou Freebush.” Raven fills in for her. “I memorized the orientation pamphlet, so I know all forty nine ladies by name and picture – well, fifty, including myself.”

 

Clarke's still confused but Raven keeps on, “Your picture wasn't there, so I knew it was you from your lack of picture.”

 

“Oh, how...” Clarke tries to think of the least offensive word for what she wants to say. “...efficient?”

 

\---

 

Clarke's hope of having a peaceful journey to the orientation breakfast was dashed the moment she sat down next to Raven Reyes. As thoughtful and enthusiastic as she was, the girl did not stop talking for the whole ride. There was only so much chatter about dresses, make up and the other contestant that an FBI Agent turned Miss New Jersey could handle before she wanted to throttle someone with her bikini.

 

She thinks that she might finally have some piece once they arrive at a different hotel and start to pile off the bus but this isn't the case either. The lobby is vast and there are plenty of large ornamental vases filled with huge displays of flowers and Clarke assumes it's the sort of place that would normally be quite tranquil but, instead, fifty shrieking and chattering women and filling through filling the space with laughs and idle gossip.

 

She follows Raven into one of the function rooms, holding the lapel of her mauve blazer up to her lips. “Entering Barbie-town.” Clarke whispers to Bellamy through her pin, giving the room a cursory sweep.

 

“We're up and running.” he replies and she can't help the smile that settles on her lips knowing that he's there and she's not going into this alone.

 

Raven grabs her arm, “Oh look! There's our table!”

 

“Oh yeah.” Clarke smiles weakly, trying to look enthusiastic for Ravens sake. She does feels a bit more enthusiastic, however, when she sees the buffet. Her stomach is still rumbling and the thought of food is now driving her towards the table.

 

“Ladies, I would like you to meet Clarissa Lou Freebush.” Raven beams, presenting Clarke to the table of women with a flourish of her arms. “She's from New Jersey.”

 

Raven turns to her left and starts to introduce the other contestants seated around their table.

 

“Octavia Blake, New York.” Clarke waves a hand at the short girl, her black hair is plaited in an usual way with half of it up and the other half flowing around over her shoulders.

 

She smiles and nods at Clarke, showing her respect. “What's up, Jersey?”

 

“Monroe she's Miss Texas. Fox from California. And Anya, Hawaii.” The rest of the girls wave and all greet her with a cacophony of hellos.

 

“I want you all to know, I really believe what it says on the sign at the Alamodome. We are _all_ winners here.” Octavia begins, smiling at the rest of the girls sat around their table.

 

Clarke sees this as the prime opportunity to help herself to a bagel and tries to listen to the girls whilst applying a generous layer of cream cheese.

 

She twitches when she hears her ear piece crackle into life. “Hey, Griffin! You hungry?”

 

If she wasn't trying to act normally, and listen to the girls pageant talk, she'd tell him that of course she's hungry she'd been up the whole night and all she'd had to eat was that damn celery – and she'd thrown that at his head. She would also flip him off.

 

“Most important, we're getting our issues out there for people to hear.” Clarke hears Raven finish as she tunes back into the conversation. “And it's such an honour to have made it this far. Don't you think?”

 

The girls all nod in agreement and smile politely at one another.

 

“Yes I agree. Especially when you're from a small state.” Anya adds, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

 

“That's so true!” Raven says reaching for her glass of water and taking a sip. “Us Rhode Islanders, for example-”

 

“I wasn't finished.” Anya cuts in with a glare. She looks quite fierce, the type of girl who could turn from Beauty Queen to Warrior Princess in a matter of seconds if you got on her bag side.“Did it sound like I was?”

 

Raven looks taken a back, “Oh, I'm sorry.”

 

Anya looks like she's about to start something but before she can they all hear a tapping on the microphone and a man clearing his throat. They all turn to face the front of the room and Clarke's glad that the conflict has been resolved for now.

 

“Check one, check one-” Kane speaks into the microphone and the room bursts into a polite round of applause.

 

Diana steps up to the podium, then. “Thank you so much. Thank you. For the past 21 years it has been my absolute honour to serve as director of this pageant.”

 

She pauses and there's another smaller round of clapping.

 

“And I know that this year will be our most exciting event ever!” she beams at the room. “After the rehearsal and a photo shoot, you can settle into your rooms. Then, tomorrow we will begin the preliminaries, hosted by our master of ceremonies...an American institution, Marcus Kane.”

 

There are a few cheers and some more claps from around the room.

 

Kane steps up and bows to the crowd. “Thank you! Oh, thank you, Diana. Isn't she ravishing everybody?! How does she do it? I look in the mirror and say, 'Who's that old man in my pyjamas?' And even though I'll be retiring this year....Well, don't cry for me...Alabama.”

 

“That's so sad. I can't believe that he's actually retiring.” Raven whispers.

 

Octavia shakes her head. “Oh, he's not retiring.”

 

“He's not?” Clarke asks. She's surprised that she hasn't heard anything from Bellamy at this revelation. Something like this could be important to their case but knowing the guys as she did, they were probably just drooling over the rest of the contestants instead of listening to the hosts.

 

“No, I spoke to him this morning, and he blurted it out. They're firing him, going for someone newer and younger. I hope it's someone hot.”

 

All of a sudden her earpiece starts to go crazy, interference screaming into her ear sending her shooting out of her seat. “Jesus Christ! Clarke shouts, clutching her ear in pain trying to claw out the source of the noise.

 

“Sorry about that, Princess, we dropped offline there for a second.” she hears Bellamy at last. “Monty's just got us up and running again.”

 

She looks up and the whole room is staring directly at her. She realises that she must look completely crazy after her out-burst.

 

“Well say something.” he prompts. “Don't just stand there.”

 

She coughs, clearing her throat. “I'm so sorry to interrupt. I had a erm bite of my bagel and I, uh... forgot to pray?” she shrugs as if to say 'what're you going to do?' and then turns to her plate mumbling “Dear Jesus, please, uh, forgive me for not praying before I had a bite of my bagel.” she glances up under her eyelashes and she can now hear the guys cracking up with laughter in her ear. “Thank you very much. Amen.”

 

Once it's all over Clarke can't help but think that it couldn't have gone worse if she'd tried – so much for keeping under the radar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me and waiting so patiently for another chapter :) Hope it was worth the wait and you guys enjoyed the introduction of some more of our beloved characters!
> 
> As usual thanks for the continued support, all the lovely comments and kudos really make my day. :)  
> Love you all, hope you're all enjoying the run up to christmas!
> 
> \- Lucy x


	6. There's an arsenal in her knickers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry again for the huge wait for this chapter. As per, the only days I had off work over the holidays were Christmas Day and New Years day so I've had to squeeze in writing when and where I can :)
> 
> Hope it's worth the wait - I've got a few other ideas in the works at the moment that you may want to keep an eye out for over the next few weeks to make up for my slacking!
> 
> Love to all, hope everyone enjoyed their holidays whichever it is you celebrate.

The rest of the day passes relatively without incident.

 

(That is if you don't class almost giving yourself concussion as an incident.)

 

Clarke had thought, perhaps naively, that she'd have the rest of the day to settle in to her new surroundings but she soon finds herself thrown in at the deep end more or less straight away. She's well and truly put through her paces in some rather vigorous dance classes, which her muscles certainly won't be thankful for especially given the lack of sleep she's had over the past few days.

 

She struggles at first, tripping over her feet (and into some of the other girls) and finding the steps hard to follow – it wasn't as if she'd ever done anything like it so far in her career, she could crack a code but she sure as hell couldn't. She stumbles and turns when she's meant to shimmy and is utterly useless, but she finds herself thinking that it's actually quite good exercise and maybe even a little fun. After a few hours though, she realises that the other scholarship ladies work a lot harder for their titles than the viewing public, and Clarke herself, give them credit for.

 

She soon manages to get her legs and arms under control, taming the wild thrashes, and is spinning and gesturing with the best of them, laughing despite herself when she catches a glimpse of herself in one of the dance room mirrors.

 

\---

 

She's flicking through her case files, reading all the background checks on the pageant contestants when she hears a knock on the door. Glancing over to see if it had woken her sleeping room-mate, she tucks her files underneath her pillow and makes her way over to the door, tying her dressing gown shut as she reaches the door.

 

Clarke looks through the peep hole and sees Raven stood on the other side of the door, hair in rollers and holding a green thermos flask. Even though she would rather finish up with her work and then catch a few hours sleep but there was something about Miss Rhode Island that endeared her to Clarke and convinced her to let the other girl in.

 

“Uh, Raven, hi.” Clarke smiles as she opens the door, standing to the side to let Raven in. “Uh, it looks like my room mate's asleep, or she's starting to mould.” Clarke smirks looking over at Octavia. The other girls face is covered with some sort of mint green lotion and she has her headphones plugged in. “But do you want to come in for a bit?”

The other girl beams, “Sure. I hope I'm not disturbing you or anything.”

 

“Oh, no, I was just, you know...” she trails off searching for an excuse, her eyes fall on the rollers in Ravens hair, “...grooming.”

 

“Oh okay,” Raven doesn't look convinced but she doesn't press the subject. “I made some of my famous hot chocolate.” she smiles, clinking two mugs together and waving her thermos flask in Clarkes direction as she sits down on the bed. 

 

“I asked some of the other girls...but when they heard 'chocolate' they slammed their doors in my face. They didn't give me a chance to say 'non-fat'.” Raven pouts as she pours out the liquid into the two mugs and then hands one to Clarke.

 

Clarke sends Raven a comforting grin and then mumbles, “Well, here's to...um..world peace.”

 

“World peace.” she smiles, clinking her mug against Clarke's.

 

Clarke takes a sip but immediately spits the drink back into her cup with a grimace. When Raven said it was non fat she wasn't kidding, she could barely even taste the chocolate at all it was just like milky water. “It's, uh, hot.” she adds when she sees the crestfallen look on the other girls face, pointing to the steaming liquid. “Don't want to burn my mouth before the prelims, right?” 

 

“I'm sorry.” Raven says, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “I have to tell you though...You're so clever. That's why you're gonna win.”

 

Clarke chuckles at that. “You should tell jokes for your talent.”

 

“Speaking of talents, what's yours?” she asks, cocking her head to the side like an inquisitive spaniel.

 

“Oh, um. It's...It's kind of like....It's, you know, it's like more of a surprise.” so much of a surprise that Clarke doesn't even know what it is yet, she's still waiting for Miller to tell her. “But don't worry, it's nothing embarrassing. Not anything like baton twirling or anything. So, what's your talent?”

 

Again, Ravens face falls and Clarke realises that she's put her foot in it again.

 

“Oh, Raven, I'm sorry.” Clarke face palms.

 

“Twirling can be a real art. I kind of like mechanics of it, it's about finding the right balance and you can get some really cool batons now too some have streamers and everything. I saw this cheerleader doing it at a football game, one time, and she lit her batons on fire and did this, like, sexy dance.” she sighs and slumps in her seat before remembering herself and sitting up straight again. “I wish I could do something like that.”

 

“Why don't you, then?”

 

Raven looks down. “My mum doesn't really like anything ostentatious. And she really doesn't like fire so I don't think it would be a good mix.”

 

Clarke puts a hand on the other girls shoulder, in a way she hopes comes across as reassuring. “Raven, I think you have as good a chance as anyone to win.”

 

“Really?”

 

Clarke will deny the little swell of her heart at the other girls smile if asked.

 

“You believe in yourself to have gotten this far, right?”

 

She nods. “Clarissa, you're so nice and so smart and so sensitive. You're definitely gonna win.”

 

“Uh! That's it.” Octavia huffs, pulling out her headphones and glaring at the other two girls. “Excuse me. I am in the middle of a REM cycle over here.”

 

“Sorry.” Raven mumbles. “I should probably be heading off now anyway.”

 

Clarke's about to protest but she glances over at the clock and realises that she really should try to at least catch up on a little bit of sleep. “I'll see you tomorrow.” she waves as Raven makes her way out of the room and rolls her eyes as Octavia pulls on an eye mask and begins to snore.

 

Clarke's actually pretty thankful when she closes the door. She shakes off her dressing gown, letting it fall over the edge of her bed before slipping underneath the covers. She's just about to let her head hit the pillow when she hears a light tap against the patio doors of their room. She reaches down to check that her handcuffs are still tucked in her thigh strap and then, checking Octavia was definitely asleep, she tiptoes over to the doors.

 

She pulls back the curtain and unlocks the door, sliding out of the room letting the door shut quietly behind her. There's a chill in the air and she wishes that she'd put her dressing gown back on before going out to investigate or at the very least some decent shoes rather than her slippers.

 

At least Clarke doesn't have to look far until she finds the culprit.

 

Bellamy is leant against the wall, shirt half untucked and hair ruffled. She doesn't even try to stop herself from admiring the view, even she can't deny how attractive he is right now and so what if she actually checks him out – she's tired and it's been a while. He smiles at her, lips tugging upwards and his freckles make him look younger than he has in a long time.

 

“No way, Bellamy. This is not happening right now.” she yawns half wanting to punch him for disturbing her sleep and half wanting to...not punch him.

 

He rolls his eyes at her and she feels the familiar bubble of annoyance at his flippancy.

 

“What?” she asks, hands on hips and a look of defiance written across her face.

 

He raises an eyebrow. “You took your earpiece out.”

 

“Because I was about to sleep!” she protests. She's also acutely aware how the shorts she's wearing don't even cover half of her thighs and goes to instinctively tug at the hem to cover herself, feeling rather more exposed than she would in her normal jogging bottoms.

 

Bellamy stifles a yawn. “Yeah well haven't you ever heard that there's 'no rest for the wicked'? Miller needs you so we've gotta go.”

 

“Right now? Really? Can't it wait?” she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of her begging but she can practically feel herself falling asleep where she stands.

 

“No, you know it can't wait. An agents job is never done.” he sighs, carding a hand through his hair.

 

She's dangerously close to throwing in the towel. “I haven't slept in two days!”

 

“I'll give you a cookie.” he promises and she can see just how tired, how stressed, he looks too and it dawns on her that she isn't the only one feeling drained by this operation. Clarke decides that likes him more like this, when he's acting more like a person and less like the ass hole he normally is around the office.

 

She grumbles but resigns herself to following him. “It better be a big one.”

 

“Oh it is.” He smirks so she smacks him in the shoulder. Scratch what she said before, he's still an ass hat.

 

“Oh grow up, Blake. You know what I mean.” she tries to scold but she can feel her resolve weakening.

 

It must be the lack of sleep.

 

\---

 

“You don't walk, you float.” Miller nags, pushing at her to keep her shoulders back and her head up straight as she walks down a flight of stairs. She keeps looking at her feet, not sure where to place them as she wobbles from one foot to the other in her heels – she doesn't want to fall and break an ankle. “Gently descending, you don't look down.”

 

“I'm _not_ looking down.” she growls, adjusting the blue dress so that her chest is tastefully covered. She's nearly tripped over the damn thing so many times tonight and she'd like to get through the rest of the night without flashing anyone in the vicinity. 

 

He shakes his head. “Go back up and do it again. Never, ever look down, okay?”

 

She marches back to the top of the stairs cursing Nathan Miller with each and every step.

 

“Thighs touching....Touching, not clenching.” Clarke has to seriously bite her tongue to stop herself from screaming bloody murder. “There's a gap between knees and calves, your calves and your ankles.”

 

“Right now there's a huge gap between my brain and my spinal cord.” she snaps, stomping over to him. She proceeds to bend over and procure a small arsenal of firearms and hand cuffs from about her person. “Here. Hold these would you.”

 

Bellamy raises an eyebrow but declines to comment, he doesn't look at all surprised that she's got a small armoury in and around her knickers. She fixes Miller with a sharp look, challenging him.

 

“What, no armoured car in there?”

 

She turns, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and can hear Bellamy chuckling. “That would be in my other dress.”

 

He sighs and it sounds all too long suffering for Clarkes liking. “So, what are you planning to do for your talent? Sing? Dance?” he pauses and then adds in a murmur. “Chew with your mouth closed perhaps?”

 

“I'll do whatever you want, Yoda.”

 

“Oh, Lord. Agent Blake!” Miller turns to where Bellamy is sat cross-legged next to the stage. “This woman has no talent!”

 

“There's really no need to shout it in front of her.” Bellamy snarks looking up from his laptop.

 

“I wasn't told to provide a talent. I simply can't do so in the next five hours!”

 

Bellamy looks perplexed. “Wait a minute. What are you talking about?”

 

“She'll be on-stage with nothing to do...but convert oxygen into carbon dioxide!” he rants, arms flying around wildly.

 

Bellamy gets up and rolls up his shift sleeves. “Yeah, well, you said you couldn't make her pretty in two days, but look at her know...she's gorgeous.” he smiles then catches himself. “I, uh, mean compared to the car wreck she was before.”

 

Even though it's a bit of a back handed compliment Clarke can't help the small blush that had crept onto her cheeks.

 

“My duties are stated in a contract, and I have fulfilled them.”

 

“You talent her up by tomorrow or-” Bellamy squares up to Miller.

 

“Are you threatening me now, is that it?”

 

“Listen guys,” Clarke pushes in between the two men and puts a hand on Bellamys chest. “There's something I know how to do. I haven't done it since high school so I might be a little rusty.”

 

Miller looks absolutely disgusted. “You are _not_ having sex on this stage or so help me God.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I didn't know it was an option. But in all seriousness, if I'm gonna do this talent then I'm going to need to give room service a call.”

 

\---

 

They're walking back to her room and Clarke finds herself wearing Bellamys suit jacket over her pyjamas. It's rather warm even if it does swamp her.

 

“Did I tell you Marcus Kane was getting fired?” she yawns, pulling the jacket a little tighter around her frame to keep the warmth close.

 

“I'm on it, Princess, don't worry. You just concentrate on being Clarissa Lou, all right.” he smiles. “And by the way, you're doing a great job. I thought the evening gown looked....well, I totally bought it.”

 

She smiles and looks up at him as they walk over “I know, you think I'm gorgeous.”

 

He shakes his head and his curls bounce a little. “I don't think you're gorgeous.”

 

“Oh, come on, we both know you think I'm gorgeous.” she laughs, courtesying. “You want to kiss me.”

 

“Really, Griffin?” he sighs. “You must be sleep deprived.”

 

“You want to hug me-” she sing songs.

 

“Jaha's more feminine. I'd rather kiss him.” he dead pans, rolling his eyes at her.

 

She continues to sing, twirling once around him.“You wanna love me. You want to hug me. You want to smooch me.”

 

And for a second she thinks that he actually might.

 

He leans forward so that their noses are almost touching and she can feels small fans of air hitting her lips as he breathes in and out. It's odd to see Bellamy from this angle, she thinks. She's always known on some level that he was an attractive man but her heart has never hammered in her chest like this before when she's looked at him. It's certainly a foreign feeling to Clarke, the warm squirmy feeling inside her stomach.

 

She watches as his eyes flicker, if just for a moment, from her eyes down to her lips and she subconsciously sweeps her tongue across them. She can feel herself being pulled towards him, something inside her is compelling her towards him and she's just about to lean in when -

 

“Enjoy the rest of your night, Princess.” he smirks.

 

He then walks away, without looking back leaving her stood on the doorstep feeling rather confused, still bundled up in a jacket that's several sizes to large.

 

\---

 

“Clarissa, you look so tired.” Raven exclaims the moment she walks into the changing rooms the next day and flops down into a seat exhausted.

 

“Oh, she had a busy night all right...” Octavia smirks, winking in Clarkes direction. “I saw that gentleman stop by the room.”

 

Raven sucks in a shocked breath. “Gentleman? What gentleman?”

 

“I thought there were no men allowed in the rooms?” Anya asks, sweeping a brush across her cheeks.

 

“Oh honey, it's different on the mainland.” Octavia snarks. Anya rolls her eyes at the shorter girl.

 

“Hold on, ladies.” Raven begins, holding up a hand. “Let's hear her side of the story before we all jump to conclusions.”

 

“You sleeping with a judge?” Monroe asks, affronted. “You so are. I can't believe it.”

 

Clarke's beginning to panic but all she can think to say is, “Oh, that guy? No, no, I was dating him.” this probably would have been ample but for some reason she feels the need to add, “Just for a little while though because...he said he had an incurable disease.”

 

The girls let out a chorus of sympathetic noises and there are a few hand placed over hearts.

 

“Oh, girls, don't worry. It wasn't anything serious, just stupidity.” she smirks, knowing full well that Bellamy can hear everything that she's saying to them.

 

“Oh, I know what that's like.” Monroe laughs, pinning up her hair. Most of the other girls nod in agreement.

 

She sees that she has a captive audience so she starts to run with the idea. “He is such a pathetic loser.” she snorts. “I'm sorry that he's obsessed with me, but at some point it's like, 'Hello! Move on! Get over yourself!'”

 

“You are _so_ right Clarissa Lou,” Octavia sympathises. “Some men really need to get over themselves.”

 

“His ego is this big.” Clarke motions with her hands as wide as she can. “But his equipment is like _this_ big!” she chuckles holding her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

 

She hears Bellamy fumbling through her earpiece. “Good cover! We, uh, worked that out together.” he chuckles nervously and Clarke can hear the embarrassment in his voice.

 


	7. leg waxing, fake orgasms, the inability of men to commit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers :)
> 
> I've gotten this chapter out a lot quicker and it's a lot longer to make up for my lack of work over the holiday period! 
> 
> I very much hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as you have done the others.
> 
>  
> 
> Any other story ideas you'd like written, feel free to drop them my way.

Clarke can honestly say, hand on heart, that she hadn't meant to cause a scene.

 

It was hardly her fault that she ended up jumping some guy in the audience. He had a gun for God's sake and even if the are in Texas that's no excuse considering they're looking for a terrorist. In her defence when you spend half your waking life trying to take out the guys with the guns she can't be blamed for leaping off the stage (mid way through her rendition of Amazing Grace on the water glasses) and tackling a man twice her size to the ground.

 

Somehow this makes her crazy in the eyes of the media and she ends up on the news trying to explain herself before she even has time to smooth out her dress.

 

Bellamy is actually going to kill her.

\---

 

Luckily enough, when she's hauled up in the boys hotel room later that day, Jasper and Monty flanking her on either side, he doesn't make an attempt on her life. He simply gives her a warning look and half reprimands half praises her for her quick response about protesting about gun use. (No-one in the room believes that she'd ever condone handing in her own weapon). If she's being honest she thinks he's more amused than he is angry.

 

They don't dwell on her earlier misdemeanour for all that long since apparently there's been a break through and they've got to meet with the hosts. Bellamy and Clarke leave Monty and Jasper to whatever it is the pair of them get up to in their spare time.

 

“We need to talk about what happened earlier.” Diana frowns as the pair walk into the room, her demeanour reminds Clarke of her Principal in High School, strict and domineering.

 

“We've got to assume that any man is a suspect at this point.” Clarke replies, somewhat sheepishly.

 

“We got DNA results.” Bellamy opens, taking a seat opposite Marcus and Diana. “The envelope you received from the Grounder was licked by a woman.”

 

Clarkes head whips around so fast she nearly cricks her neck, this is certainly news to her. “There's never been DNA before.”

 

Bellamy looks smug. “Well, he slipped up this time, or I should say 'she'.”

 

“You people are absolutely preposterous! I mean, if I ran my pageant like this it'd be in someone's basement.” she fumes, getting up from her chair and stalking round her desk so that she's stood directly in front of them. Clarke's seen this kind of behaviour before and Miss Sydney is going to have to think again if she thinks she can assert her dominance over them.

 

“Every operation is bound to have its screw ups Miss Sydney.” Bellamy tries, using one of his disarming smiles as he sits forward in his seat.

 

She nods at Clarke. “As far as I can see, she's still with us.”

 

“God.” Clarke mutters. “You tackle one guy.”

 

“Could I have a moment alone with Miss Griffin, please gentlemen?” Diana asks, changing tact.

 

Bellamy looks to Clarke before affirming, checking that she's okay with it. “Uh, sure.”

 

Marcus nods his agreement.

 

Diana smiles, sickly sweet, and again she reminds Clarke of a serpent. “Just for a tiny minute. We'll just be a moment. Shop talk, you know; hair, gel, mousse.”

 

As soon as the men leave and they're alone Clarke begins to feel guilty and she has no idea why. Okay, so she has some idea why but she's not in the business of letting women make her feel inferior.

 

Having said this, she looks up at the older woman and sighs. “Look, I know I made a mistake. I'm sorry.”

 

Diana takes one look over her shoulder to make sure they're alone before crowding up in Clarkes face, an accusatory finger pointing in her direction. “Listen. I've been fighting all my life against your type.”

 

“My type?” Clarke leans towards Diana but stays seated, showing her that she can't scare her.

 

“The ones who think we're a bunch of worthless airheads. You know who I mean.” she begins counting off on her fingers. “Feminists...intellectuals...ugly women -” she spits the last one, “- I refuse to give in to their cynicism. That's why I have dedicated my entire life to this scholarship. No one's going to ruin that. Not this year. You get in my way and I _will_ kill you, Miss Griffin. Do you understand?”

 

“Yeah.” she mumbles a fronted.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Yes.” Clarke smiles but she wants to get away from this woman as soon as she can.

 

\---

 

“The interview is the single most important part of the pageant.” Miller says, lugging a pink chair over to a podium. “It accounts for 30% of your total score.”

 

“What's the other 70%?” she asks, adjusting the sash over her pink evening gown. “Cleavage?”

 

*

Bellamy strides into his room, tossing his jacket over the edge of the chair. “Is this your idea of doing final preps on the convention centre?” he asks Monty.

 

He and Jasper were meant to be going over the pageant buildings looking for bugs or any other suspicious devices but instead he's found them in their room, both glued to the screen in front of them.

 

“Come on, one of you at least. Jasper, go on.” he slaps him on the back and Jasper soon gets up and scurries out of the room putting in his ear-piece as he does so.

 

“Look.” Monty says, pointing to the screen and patting the seat next to “Liberace's got her in a nice evening gown.”

 

The guys have been ribbing him ever since they'd heard the conversation Clarke had had with the girls the previous night, accusing him of having some sort of school boy crush on her. He wants to resists Monty, he really does, but he's kind of curious about this new Clarke Griffin so he takes the seat without saying a word.

 

“Jaha called by the way.” Monty remarks. “He, uh, saw Griffin's anti-gun commercial. He's on his way.”

 

“Good, perfect.” Bellamy sighs, head falling into his hands. “I'd just hate for him to fire me over the phone.”

 

He paces the room, rubbing his neck. “I can't believe this!”

 

“It'll be ugly.”

 

“No shit.” Bellamy says snatching up his jacket and heading for the door. “I gotta do something, I can't just sit here waiting for the inevitable. I'm gonna go do laps.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I'll be back later and then when Jasper's back we'll go over tomorrow's assignments.” he lets the door slam behind him without even waiting for Monty to respond.

 

“You got it, Boss.”

 

*

 

If Clarke had to assign an animal to Miller at this precise moment then she thinks that she would choose a tiger. He's prowling around her as she sits, back straight, in the chair and is watching her in an almost predatory fashion.

 

“Hands folded and delicately placed in your lap,” he dictates. “And don't forget to cross your ankles.”

 

She adjusts her position, placing her hands together on her thighs and linking one foot behind the other. She's past the point of having to bite back retorts and she's decided that this process will be a lot less painful for the both of them if she just shuts up and co-operates.

 

That was the plan anyway and she was sticking to it, for now.

 

“Neck up! And remember, smile.” he trails his fingers up her cheeks in a curve. “Smilers wear a crown, losers wear a frown.”

 

“I would so love to hurt you right now.” So much for playing along.

 

“You can do as you please, Miss Griffin, as long as you smile. Now....” he settles in a chair adjacent from hers and pulls a handful on note cards from his pocket. “Why is New Jersey called the Garden State?”

 

“You can't fit 'Oil and petrochemical refinery state' on a license plate?” she snorts, laughing to herself.

 

“I don't appreciate your selfishness and immaturity when I'm working as hard as I am.”

 

She shrugs. “What's the big deal? It's fixed, I'm in the Top Five whatever happens. Congratulations to me.”

 

“Is that enough? Have you no pride in yourself, in your presentation?” he asks, lip curling in frustration.

 

“In case it has escaped your notice I'm an FBI agent. I'm not a performing monkey in heels.” she scowls, jumping out of her seat and wobbling on her heels.

 

“You're also a person, and an incomplete one at that! In place of friends and relationships, you have sarcasm and a gun.” his words sting and she can feel her blood boiling.

 

She didn't ask for this – these evening gowns and good manners. She's trying to protect people, save lives not win some crappy plastic tiara and the sooner Miller realises this the better. She isn't – she's never been – one of his usual girls and he just doesn't seem to understand.

 

“Oh, _I_ have sarcasm?” she counters, marching over to him and prodding him in the chest with her finger. “When every word that comes out of your mouth is dripping with disdain.”

 

“That is because I am a miserable, grumpy elitist, and that works for me.”

 

She turns and starts to walk out of the room. She's had enough and she would quite like to get back to her room and pretend that she's back in her apartment beating the crap out of her punch bag. “I don't have relationships because I don't want them. And I don't have friends because I work 24-7. And you have no idea why I am the way that I am.” she throws the sash over her shoulder.

 

“Since we're practising interviews, why are you the way you are?” he presses, but he hasn't moved from his chair.

 

“None of your damn business.” she growls.

 

“Uh, none of our damn business. The judges probably have never heard that before. We have more to do here.”

 

Clarke whirls around. “No, we are finished.” She says, pulling out her gun from the holster on her thigh, her voice dripping with severity.

 

Miller holds his hands up in surrender.

 

“Give me a location for Blake.” she snaps into her pin badge.

 

“Be advised he's at the pool.” Montys voice comes crackling through her ear.

 

\---

 

Clarke finds Bellamy swimming.

 

She watches him for a while – he's all strong strokes and big splashes in the water, kind of a metaphor for him really – until he comes up for air and notices her stood, barefoot at the edge of the water. He swims over to the side, it only takes him a few strokes, and then he's at the side of the pool looking up at her.

 

She gets down and perches on the edge, hitching up her dress and dipping her aching feet into the cool water. “Thought I'd let you know I was quitting.”

 

“Hold on. Wait a minute.” he reaches out for her and his hand lands on her forearm. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, you got the wrong girl. All right?” she sighs, using her other hand to make swirls in the water with her finger.

 

“I do not need this now, Clarke.” he shakes his head and little droplets of water spray over her.

 

She turns and looks him in the eyes. “That's what I'm saying, Bell. I'm totally screwing up in there! You can't deny that. I...I don't feel like a real agent anymore.” She gestures as she speaks, hands flying in all directions.

 

It looks like he's going to say something to contradict her but she carries on before he can.

 

“I mean, Miller says this thing that's so....”

 

“You shouldn't listen to what he says, you know.” Bellamy says earnestly.

 

“I don't care what he said. I don't care. Because, he's right, I _am_ the job...and I'm okay with that. You're the job too right?”

 

He nods. “Yeah, I'm the job. We're all the job. There's not much room for anything else.”

 

“Then what's wrong with me? I date. I know everyone thinks I haven't had a date in forever. Is that what you think?”

 

He tries not to smirk. “Hey, I think you date.”

 

“Damn right I do. But both times it was screwed up.” she frowns, eyebrows creasing. “I don't even care. All I want to do is my job. I enjoy protecting people, why can't that be my priority, huh? It's like for the last three days I feel like I'm completely lost.”

 

“Clarke, listen to me would you? I know you like the sound of your own voice but I want you to hear to me on this one.” he sends her a smile that she's never seen on him before. It's oddly childlike but it suits his face now, in the moonlight, with the way his freckles are splattered across his cheeks. “I've been waiting five years to run my own op, and now that I've been given the chance why would I blow it on the wrong girl?”

 

She scoffs, she can't help it. “No, we all know the reason you picked me because I looked good in a bikini and wasn't on maternity leave.”

 

“No, Clarke, that's why they let me pick you. Do you want to know why?”

 

“Lost a bet?”

 

“No, because you're smart...and funny and you're easy to talk to when you're unarmed. You care about you're job and there's nothing wrong with that, really there isn't. It's great that you want to keep people safe, but if you can do that and look like a Princess, where's the harm?”

 

She looks up under the hair that's falling over her face and smiles at him. It's grateful, showing him that his words matter to her.

 

“Give yourself a break and cut Miller some slack. Because if everyone sees what I see, then...they'll love you. So, what do you say Princess?”

 

Despite all her reservations she finds herself saying. “I won't let you down.”

 

“Good, that's what I want to hear.” he smiles at her again and she's having a hard time putting a finger on what she's feeling right now.

 

“In all honesty, I might let you down, Bellamy. But I'll try my best not to.”

 

He gets a mischievous look in his eye then.

 

“Bellamy Blake do not mess with the dress.” she warns but it's too late and she finds herself being pulled into the water before she can mutter a threat.

 

Her dress floats out around her and her soaking hair is plastered to her face when she emerges from the water. “Oh, Miller is gonna kill you. You're in big trouble.”

 

“Why?” he asks, brown eyes the picture of innocence. “You fell.”

 

She raises a frustrated eyebrow and makes to get out of the pool, heading towards the ladder.

 

“Hey Princess?” he calls after her. “You look good wet.”

 

“Shut up!”

 

She neglects to mention that she thinks he does too.

 

\---

 

“Whoa, guys, Griffin's in the dressing room. Come on.” Jasper calls from his position in front of the TV. He's been monitoring her movements all day – even he doesn't think he could put up with Miller, God knows how Clarke manages it – but seeing her waltzing into a room full of half naked beauty contestants is what piques his interest.

 

Monty and Bellamy abandon their work and perch on each arm of Jaspers chair, ready to observe the situation as it unfolds.

 

“You see the legs on that girl?” Jasper chuckles as Raven walks by in a pastel pink one piece swimsuit, hair up with a flower pinned next to her ear.

 

Clarke turns, then, and their view of the girls is obscured by a determined looking Miller as he marches purposefully towards her, flesh coloured discs in each hand.

 

“Those had better be candy dishes!” she sucks in a breath, taking a look at the breast implants in his hands.

 

“Just turn around.” Miller instructs and she does as she's told, turning and facing a mirror, completely unaware that the guys can see exactly what's going on. “Open, please.”

 

She reluctantly unties her robe and Bellamy has to do a double take when he sees the purple bikini that she's wearing. She looks good. He can see why Miller had insisted she shouldn't wear an all in one – purely because it was bound to help her standing in the competition, not because he appreciates the view or anything. This is Griffin they're talking about.

 

Monty points at the screen, laughing as Miller tucks the implants into Clarkes bikini top. “This guy's like an inch from death right now!”

 

“But what a way to go, though, right Bell?” Jasper laughs, slapping the older man on the back.

 

“Have a bit of respect, yeah?” Bellamy chides, getting up. “Come on guys. Break it up. Nothing to see.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Bellamy shrugs. “She's a federal agent.”

 

There's an awkward pause but then the men turn their attentions back to the screen in front of them. They each pull out an earpiece and fix it in. At least Bellamy has the decency to get out a pen and paper ready to transcribe anything noteworthy.

 

“Guess it's time to apply at my local Hooters.” Clarke snarks as Miller hands her a small tube. She pauses to examine it. “ Wait, haemorrhoid ointment? You honestly think the judges will look that closely?”

 

Millers smile is wry. “It's for the little baggies under your eyes.”

 

“Really?” she asks as he produces a can from his bag. “Good, hair spray. Finally something I actually recognize. Wait what are you doing?” she tacks on as he sprays liberally over her bikini bottoms.

 

“Just a little trick I've learnt over the years.” he smirks. “It stops the suit from riding up.”

 

“Riding up _where_ exactly?”

 

Miller shrugs, an unusual gesture for him. “Just up!”

 

“Urgh. That's quite enough of that thank you!” she swats at him as he goes to spray some more hairspray on her bum.

 

“Why do you insist on make things so difficult for me?”

 

Clarke smirks humourlessly. “I can see how this is an incredibly embarrassing situation for you.” she glances over to her left and then looks back, indignant. “Why does Georgia get to wear a one-piece and I have to wear  _ this _ ?!” she gestures down to her bikini.

 

“If you can do this – and in a bikini no less, then you can convince anyone that you belong here.” Miller smiles, and it actually looks genuine for once.

 

\---

 

“Places, everybody! Let's go!” one of the show runners is running around, ushering the girls towards the stage.

 

All the young ladies are lined up either side of the stage, Clarke waiting to the left watching the audience as they filter in. She'd heard they'd shipped in the lads from the local naval base and some of the students from the surrounding Universities to come and watch this round. If Clarke found anything intimidating it was performing in front of her peers, so this wasn't looking good for her.

 

She can hear Marcus Kane over the tannoys. “The Swimsuit Preliminary accounts for 15% of the total score and tests the grace, athleticism and poise of each lovely woman.”

 

She can feel her heart begin to pound in her chest and she suddenly feels all hot. Looking down, she spies her revealing swimsuit and she can't do this she just can't. She needs to get out of this line and...and...

 

Clarkes eyes search the staging area, looking for a way out but instead her eyes land on Bellamy Blake. He's wearing a navy button down over some dark wash jeans, his hair curling and lips tilting in an encouraging manner and Clarke thinks that if she can maybe focus on him then her breathing will even out and she'll be able to do this.

 

She thinks he must be able to see the panic in her face because before she can bat an eyelid he's making his way over to her.

 

“I can't Bell.”

 

“Yes you can Clarke, you can do anything.” he smiles, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a quick squeeze. “I've seen you take out guys twice your size before and you're worried about walking around for a bit in front of a few people?”

 

“A few?” she calms down enough to quirk an eyebrow at him.

 

“Okay so maybe it's a couple of hundred, but what do they matter?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“The last time I was naked in public, I came out of a uterus.” she mumbles. “I don't have breasts, my thighs. I have avoided this experience all my life.”

 

“And here it is.” Miller chimes, appearing as if from nowhere. “You must achieve a Zen-like state. Listen to your breathing, feel your heart...think of the Dalai Lama.”

 

“Like that's going to help.”

 

“Honestly Clarke, you'll do great.” Bellamy smiles. “Go get 'em Princess.”

 

And then it's time for her to go and she's being herded onto the stage.

 

“Texas!” Octavia makes her way onto one of the podiums, pauses to let the judges mark down scores and for the audience to whistle and cheer for her before she exits the stage.

 

Then it's Ravens turn. “Rhode Island!”

 

“New Jersey!” Kane calls and Clarkes feet are moving involuntarily. She's taking long strides in her heels and can feel herself becoming more confident with each and every step. In the end she finds that she kind of likes the attention, it makes her feel good, feel confident. Her heart is still beating fast but now it's with adrenaline. She looks sees Bellamy and he's in the crowd now. For some reason, in that moment, he makes her heart race faster.

 

As quickly as it starts it's over and she's waiting whilst the others answer a few routine questions before she has to return to the stage to answer hers. She hears a plethora of 'world peace' as the other girls answer about what they think would improve society.

 

Clarke thinks she's being clever when she answers, “That would be harsher punishment for parole violators, Marcus.” when he asks her the same question. She's met with silence from both him and the audience. She laughs, nervously, and then tacks on a “and world peace” for good measure.

 

“Thank you, Clarissa Lou.”

 

“And thank you, Marcus.”

 

Miller is there to greet her as soon as she comes off the stage. “That was charming. Are you drunk?”

 

“Glad you enjoyed it.” she rolls her eyes. “Now excuse me, I have to go unscrew my smile.”

 

“Hey.” she doesn't have to turn to know that it's Bellamy behind her.

 

At first she thinks he's there to congratulate her on a job well done and her stomach begins to do these odd little flips but then...

 

“We've got a lead.”

 

“The blood test?” she asks shrugging on the robe that Miller has found for her.

 

Bellamy shakes his head. “No. Photos.” he says, handing her a few prints. “Raven Reyes, with members of a radical animal rights group-”

 

“Yeah, and? Loads of people like animals.” she interrupts.

 

“-involved in bombings.” he finishes in tandem with her.

 

Miller doesn't look at all shocked. “They do say it's always the quiet ones.”

 

“She fits the profile: loner, introverted.” Bellamy says.

 

“That Raven?” Clarke points over to where the girl is on stage answering questions. “You think that girl right there describing her idea of a 'perfect date' to be April 25th is a terrorist? Really?”

 

They all look over just as Raven is finishing her answer, “I's not too hot, not too cold. All you need is a light jacket.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Now, there is a hardened criminal if ever I've seen one.”

 

“Okay then. Maybe she's an accomplice.” Bellamy sounds exasperated. “Maybe she's his inside connection. But that's what you've got to find out for us.”

 

“How?”

 

“Oh, I don't know? Buddy up to her, you know, girl talk.”

 

She raises a brow. “Girl talk, really?”

 

“Yeah, girl talk.”

 

“Sorry, I'm totally drawing a blank here.” 

 

“How about leg waxing, fake orgasms, the inability of men to commit?” Miller interjects.

 

“Why don't _you_ talk to her, then?”

 

Bellamy decides to change tact. “Okay, Clarke, so imagine she's me and you want to know something, but I don't want to talk about it. What would you do?” 

 

She briefly considers how she tried to trick him into admitting he likes her but soon shakes that thought out of her head. “You want me to beat it out of her?”

 

“Why don't you just talk to her?” he asks, eyes pleading. “Please.”

 

“Okay, forget about it. I'll go.” she concedes. “Put away the puppy dog eyes.” 

 

He smirks, handing her her earpiece. “Put this back in your ear.”

 

“I can't talk girl talk with a guy in my head. I can't even do it with me in my head.”

 


	8. Sure got a boot up her ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I must apologise for the huge wait but as per work comes first and I've been a busy bee of late in the world of retail! :)  
> This is just a short chapter I'm afraid but it's needed to tie to story together. Probably just two or three chapters after this one and I hope to have finished the story b the end of February :) Thanks for bearing with me so far, love to you all!

Later that evening, Clarke strides into the gym balancing a stack of pizza boxes in her right hand and a pack of beer in her left. If she's going to do girl talk she's damn well going to do it her way.

 

“Hey, Rhode Island, how're you doing?” she asks plonking herself down next to Raven.

 

The other girl is sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat, hunched over, cradling her both her knees to her chest. “How can you ask that? You heard my interview. I was awful.” she sniffs.

 

“It wasn't that bad, honestly. I'm sure everyone thought it was charming.” Even Clarke can hear the insincerity in her voice and she tries to mask it with a smile and a pat to the other girls shoulder.

 

“I doubt that.” Raven sighs, voice shaky.

 

“Come and have a midnight snack with me and some...” Clarke cringes, “Uh...girl talk.”

 

By this time, though, some of the other girls have caught the scent of the pizza and have made their way off whatever piece of gym gear they were using over to where the other two girls were sitting.

 

Octavia flops down beside Clarke. “Are you crazy? We can't have pizza and beer!”

 

Raven nods almost apologetically. “She's kind of right though. Do you know how many calories you're talking about?”

 

“Come on guys, it's light beer and you guys are going to work it off in here anyway.” Clarke sighs then proceeds to use her teeth to open the cap of one of the bottles. Her mother always told her it was a bad habit, that it would ruin her teeth, but it's been a long time since she's paid attention to anything that Abby ever told her. “Come on. Really, no takers?”

 

“We really shouldn't.” Monroe mutters but she doesn't look convinced as she edges over closer towards the pizza.

 

“All right, I'll just sit here. You guys go back on your bicycles-” Clarke smiles, opening the lid of the box. “-and I'll sit here with my very large, very cheesy pizza.”

 

Raven sighs but picks up a slice anyway before she can stop herself. “Oh, look at all that cheese.”

 

“Raven, don't.” Octavia warns, jealousy evident in her eyes. “At least scrape off the toppings.”

 

Clarke smiles and tries to waft the smell towards the other girl. “First step, pizza. Second step, flaming batons.”

 

Her words seem to open a flood gate and before she knows it the girls around her have pounced and there aren't any slices of pizza left.

 

“I guess we'll be needing more pizza then.” Clarke laughs as she watches the other girls wolf down their food and swig from their beer bottles. She wonders how long it's been since they last indulged like this.

 

 

\---

 

The bass is pounding in Clarke's ears like a heartbeat and there are sweaty bodies pressed against her as people dance along to the thrum of the music. She'd managed to convince the girls to let their hair down and go clubbing – which wasn't all that hard considering that the light beer went straight to their heads – in order to see if she could garner any more intel from Raven. 

 

They hadn't even been in the club all that long but Raven was already swaying to the music as if she'd had about twelve shots of tequila (in truth she'd probably had about half that many) and Clarke 's pretty sure that this is probably her best chance at getting something out of the other girl. She'd have to re-evaluate her morals once the case was solved.

 

She gestures for the pair of them to head over to the bar, waving a hand to Octavia to let her know where they were going – she couldn’t afford to lose any of the girls with a psychopath on the loose.

 

Raven jumps after Clarke, propping herself against the bar with a shaky arm. "This is so fun it should be illegal!"

 

Clarke orders a few alcopops before turning to face the other girl, who has UV paint splattered across her cheeks and in her hair. "Hey Raven, s peaking of illegal, have you ever, like,  committed a crime?"

 

"Yes!" At first she seems excited then deflates somewhat, looking remorseful. "Yes, I did."

 

"Go on." Clarke prompts, handing Raven a tube filled with a bright green liquid.

 

She sighs then downs the drink in one. "One time I stole red underwear from the department store. Don't look at me like that Clarissa Lou, my mom wouldn't buy them for me. She said they were Satan's panties."

 

Clarke has to surpress a lugh at this and she can't help but feel relieved when Raven denies any further wrong doing since Satan's panties had left her so traumatised.

 

\---

  
  


 

“She's completely trashed.” Octavia giggles, holding a damp flannel to Raven's forehead. They're all stood gathered around the sinks in the club, Clarke holding a glass of water for Raven to sip.

 

Monroe nods, “We should get her back before Miss Sydney finds out.”

 

“Diana's sure got a boot up her ass about something.” Raven slurs and the girls all laugh at her outburst.

 

“I don't think she ever got over those rumours.” Octavia quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Come again?” Clarke asks, suddenly interested in the conversation.

 

“In her pageant years she was always a runner-up, right. But get this – one year the winner mysteriously got food poisoning so she had to take her place.” Anya quips from where she's perched on the closed lids of one of the toilets.

 

Octavia rolls her eyes. “No, although that wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. Stan told me she got a letter a few weeks back from the network.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” the smaller girl confirms. “...and they're firing her too! Apparently she threw a chair out the window!”

 

\---

 

“I've got twenty people here waiting for confirmation, Blake. Don't tell me I don't understand.” Jaha snaps as Bellamy paces up and down his hotel room, stress seeping out of his every orifice.

 

Clarke had been MIA for the past seven hours and he was beginning to run out of excuses for her when Jaha kept grilling him on her whereabouts. He couldn't be expected to keep up with her when she kept ditching her equipment. 

 

He looks up and sees Jaha checking his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd entered the room. “She'll be here soon, sir.”

 

It's at this point that Clarke chooses to storm into the room, still wearing her clubbing gear with neon paints smeared across her cheeks and clothes. She clearly hasn't slept either if the bags under her eyes are any indication.

 

Bellamy heads over to the door so he can speak to her before Jaha gets to her. He looks at her with a puzzled expression. “I hate when I don't see a wet paint sign.”

 

She sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Stop it. Listen, please.”

 

“Can't hear you Princess, I took out my earpiece.” he snarks.

 

She has to fight the urge to stamp her foot in annoyance but she decides that acting like a petulant child isn't likely to get her very far. “Will you stop it, Bellamy? I have a lead and it's not certainly not Raven.”

 

“Forget it.” At first Clarke wonders how Bellamy spoke without moving his lips until she glances over his shoulders and sees Jaha stood across the room, frown etched onto his face. “They bagged the Grounder.”

 

“What? Where?” she asks, pushing past Bellamy so that she can confront Jaha directly. She can't believe what she's hearing, there's no way that it can be right.

 

“It's confirmed. He was holing up in a shack in Nevada. Place had enough explosives to make a new Grand Canyon. Let's pack up and get out of here before we waste any more time.”

 

He makes to leave but she has to stop him, to get him to listen to her. “Sir, I need to talk to you. One second of your time, please.”

 

“Griffin, really?” Jaha grunts and it's clear even to Clarke that he doesn't have the time nor the patience for this. Even so she has to press on because she can't let this go because it's not right. It can't be.

 

“Hear me out a second. I feel the situation bears further scrutiny and our continued presence here at the pageant.” 

 

Jaha sighs and it sounds both annoyed and long suffering. “Do you have paint in your ears or something? I just told you that we caught the guy. What more is there for us to do?”

 

She strides over to the door and put herself between Jaha and the door, blocking is escape and forcing him to listen to what she has to say. “I respect what you're saying, sir. I'd say the same to me but -”

 

“But what Griffin?” he cuts in.

 

She marches over to Bellamys desk and holds up the file beginning to flip through it. “What if we were wrong? What if the Grounder didn't send it? What if it was a copycat?” 

 

Jaha sits down on the bed and runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

 

She pulls out the letter and hands it to him, pointing insistently to all the notes and annotations. “The letter didn't follow the normal pattern. The linguistic scheme was uncharacteristic...and the DNA said it was a woman!”

 

“Maybe he just got his girlfriend to lick the envelope.” he shrugs. She isn't even going to bother to argue that a girlfriend certainly goes against the profile for this kind of criminal.

 

Having said that, Clarke isn't going to let it go that easily. “I think we have reason to monitor Sydney.”

 

“So why don't you jump on her after you've played a quick melody on the water glasses. You're the reason I had to drag myself down here in the first place. You're reckless, Clarke, and I don't want to hear anymore.”

 

“You're absolutely right, sir.” she can feel herself deflating. “Not another damn word.”

 

“Thank you.” he says and gets up to leave.

 

She almost lets him leave the room but before he can get out the door the words are already spilling out of her mouth. “But she's getting fired this year, which she didn't tell us.”

 

“You're already in enough trouble with the review board, don't make it worse for yourself.” 

 

“Clarke stop.” Bellamy hisses.

 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but when she was in the pageant, the only reason she won was because the winner got food poisoning. How suspect is that?”

 

He doesn't need to reply, the expression on his face says it all. But when has that ever stopped her before.

 

“She threatened me. And according to Monroe, she has a history of violence.” Clarke presses.

 

“Who the hell is Monroe? Are you getting all your information from a pyjama party of all places?”

 

“I-” Clarkes starts but is interrupted by Bellamy.

 

“Would you shut up?”

 

She's as cold as ice when she bites out. “Bellamy, I think you're shutting up enough for both of us. Don't you?”

 

Jaha turns to Bellamy, completely blocking Clarke out of the conversation. “Is there any reason to suspect Sydney?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

Clarke's blood is boiling at this point but she tries to keep calm. “I request permission to stay with a small contingent.”

 

“Denied.”

 

“Then I request permission to stay alone.” she almost demands, arms crossed over her chest and defiant look smeared across her paint splattered face.

 

“You know what, Griffin, I don't care what you do. You want to stay, stay! But you're going to do it as a private citizen. Turn in your badge and your gun immediately. Everybody else, I suggest we start packing.” And with that he storms out of the room, leaving the door open in his wake.

 

Clarke looks to Bellamy as if he'd literally taken a knife and driven it in between her shoulder blades.

 

“What? Don't look at me like I betrayed you.” Bellamy asks, flopping down on his bed. He's looking tired again but she can't feel anything but anger towards him in this moment.

 

“Betrayal implies action. You just stood there.” she scowls, prodding him sharply.

 

“Princess, you've got nothing to go on. Please just give it up. You did good here. We did good.”

 

She sits down next to him, anger fading slightly as she fights the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. “I know everyone thinks I'm a screw up. Maybe I should have gone to Med school like my mum wanted. But I feel like, for the first time, I'm in the right place at the right time. I _have_ to protect those girls. It's my job.”

 

“Part of our job is following orders.”

 

“And the other part is using your brain. Throw out the rule book-”

 

“I like the book. I like knowing what I can and cannot do. You're not the only one who lives for the job. I want to keep mine for the next twenty or thirty years. Jesus, Griffin. Give it a rest.”

 

She rolls her eyes, hot anger threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Sure, I'll give it a rest.”

 

“What are you doing?” He asks as he watches her begin to pull off her badge. His eyes widen as she proceeds to hand it to him, along with her gun. “Come on Clarke, don't do it.”

 

“It's worth the risk.” she deadpans before leaving the room without another word. 

 

\---

 

Clarke is most definitely a woman on a mission when she bursts into Millers hotel room the following morning. “Okay, Miller. Beautify me. Hair, make up, shellac, whatever it is you do. That shiny stuff -. Wait, where are you going?”

 

Miller shrugs, continuing to fold the shirt in his hands. “Your Agent Jaha insists that I depart, or I won't be compensated for my troubles.”

 

“No.” she practically wails. “After the Top ten I am completely on my own, here. The FBI is gone, it's not fixed anymore. I never thought I'd say this but I need you!”

 

“Not anymore, young one. The cocoon is already open. I've taken a woman without a smidgen of oestrogen and made her a lady.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Oh come on.”

 

He shrugs and then folds a few more shirts. “I've never been prouder of myself, really. Or, well, of any girl I have ever coached. You are truly  _ unique _ .”

 

“I have a really strong feeling something will happen to these girls. You need to stay for me. Please.” she asks, batting her eyelashes for probably the first time in her life. She hopes its convincing but somehow she doubts that.

 

“I can't”. He says regretfully, continuing to pack his bags. He stops, momentarily, and hands her a sleek black box. “But I can leave you this. I was saving it for tonight. It's your size, I believe. Good luck to you, Clarissa Lou.”

\---

 

Raven spins her chair around to face the other girls, blusher brush in hand. “Has anyone seen Clarke? I can't believe she missed dress rehearsal.”

 

Octavia's taking the rollers out of her hair when she replies. “Maybe she couldn't take the pressure. She ate four slices last night.” She makes the last part sound more scandalous than it needed to be.

 

“We all saw her glasses performance. She is not making the Top Ten.” Anya sighs.

 

“I overslept my beauty sleep!” Clarke shrieks as she runs into the room, dressing gown pulled tight around her middle and bag slung over her shoulder.

 

She finds an empty mirror next to Raven and empties the contents of her make up bag onto the shelf, rummaging through it and examining all the different tubes and tubs.

 

“Do you need any help?” Raven asks.

 

“No, I'm fine.” she replies with a small smile as she riffles through her make up bag some more pulling out a compact and a tube of mascara. “I just need to work out which one of these is the, uh, lipstick.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again my pretties <3


	9. The details he's privy to.

“Good luck, ladies! Keep it moving. Let's go!” Clarke can hear one of the frantic stage hands calling in all the girls as they begin to line up and filter towards the stage.

 

She looks over and catches sight of Murphy by the stage doors, leering at the women who stride past him with a smug. “Looking good, ladies.”

 

Clarke feels a surge of pride as Monroe glances back over her shoulder. “Will you go back to the mother ship already? Jeez.”

 

“As long as you go with me, Tex-Ass.” he sneers and Clarke thinks she might vomit. To Monroe's credit she flips him off, calls him a jackass and then carries on her way, every bit the perfect pageant girl again.

 

“Let's go, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Texas....” one of the show runners calls as each one walks past, checking their names against the list on his clipboard and then pointing them in the direction of the staircase.

 

She's making her way up the spiral staircase readying herself for the way she's about to embarrass herself once she appears on the stage when she hears raised voices. Clarke glances back, hand flying to her head to head to steady her Lady Liberty crown, and sees Diana caught in a heated exchange with Murphy.

 

Diana's fiddling with a pill bottle, gesturing wildly at the younger man. “I can't open the goddamn bottle.”

 

He sighs, mutters something that Clarke doesn't quite catch, and takes the bottle from her, placing the case that he was carrying on the floor before unscrewing the cap and handing the bottle back to Diana.

 

Miss Sydney seems to soften then, smiling the only genuine mile that Clarke has seen from her, and begins to make her way towards her entrance to the stage. Murphy pauses, just for a second, glancing around, before he follows her.

 

Clarke can't help but notice that he's forgotten to pick up his case and curiosity wins out and she's fighting her way back down the stairs.

 

“Where are you going?” Raven asks, blocking her path.

 

“I, uh, forgot my breasts. Hold on, I'll be back.” she mutters, holding her chest as she scurries down the stairs to prove her point.

 

Once she reaches the case, she sweeps her hair over her shoulder and leans her ear down as she fiddles with the lock, switching the numbers again and again trying to find the right code. Clarke knows she's fumbling with the lock but she's beginning to panic 

 

She thinks she was about to get in when another stage hand makes his way over to her, spins the case around and opens it to reveal a set of microphones.

 

“Oh.” she sighs, feeling rather sheepish. “You're going to be needing these now right?”

 

The man nods and then packs the case back up and carrying it away, leaving her feeling foolish.

 

Maybe I’m paranoid, she thinks as she ascends the stairs trying to catch up with the rest of the girls.

 

\---

 

“Going live. In five, four, three....”

 

The lights are out on the stage and Clarke can hear the blood pounding in her ears and she feels like her heart is about to leap out of her throat and dance on the stage right next to her. She's running the steps through in her mind in the last couple of seconds before her imminent embarrassment is broadcast across the nation. 

 

She'd deny it if he asked her but there's a part of her that kind of wishes that Bellamy was here right now, she knows how he'd be there on the sidelines willing her on – believing in her even when she didn't believe in herself, but the other part of her is still mad at him for not standing up to Jaha for her.

 

All of a sudden, there's no time to worry about Agent Blake or the way her temple is sweating like a bitch because the lights come on, almost blinding her, and the music kicks in, blaring across the stage. Clarke definitely doesn't feel like one in a million when she's fumbling her way through the steps and then she glances over and sees Octavia and Raven and she can't help but feel at ease. She meets Ravens eye and and the pair smile and Clarke finds it easier to remember to step, shake and twirl knowing that she has someone here that has her back.

 

Once the music dies down and she's navigated the choreography without tripping on her silver gown Clarke's beginning to feel as though she can do this with or without the bureau. All she has to do now is wait for the results and hope that she's done enough to move on in the competition. She's still catching her breath as the studio audience applaud and the network cuts to a commercial break.

 

“It's the 75th Annual Miss United States Pageant...live from San Antonio, Texas! And your host for the evening, Marcus Kane!”

 

Kane strides out onto the stage to applause and he shoots one of his signature smiles into the camera, sending a wave towards the crowd. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! And welcome to a night of beauty, talent and poise. And I'm not just talking about my co-host, the beautiful, Diana Sydney!”

 

Clarke watches as she struts out to join Kane, her baby blue skirt suit complimenting his tie. They look every part the perfect pair, the picture of innocence, but Clarke can feel her eyes narrowing. She doesn't trust this woman at all.

 

“Marcus, you absolute charmer.” her smile is positively reptilian. “But I think you forgot to mention 'incredibly intelligent'.”

 

He chuckles, clearly for effect. “That was incredibly stupid of me. How can I make it up to you?”

 

“By helping me to announce the Top Ten chosen based on their performance during the preliminaries this week.” she smiles extending her hand, waiting for the results.

 

“Thank you, Scott.” she grins into the camera, not even looking at the man who'd handed her the golden envelope. “Ladies, hold your breath.”

 

The pair list off several names, most of the friends she'd made at the pageant making it into the top 10. Clarke's pleased for them, they had all worked so hard for this and she couldn't be prouder of the girls for working so hard. She was so wrong to have judged them before and when saw the look on their faces she really could see how much this meant to them.

 

There was only one name left to call and Clarke's beginning to think that she hadn't made it when Marcus called out, “And last, but by no means least, New Jersey!”

 

Shit, she thinks, that's her. So she resigns to plaster on her most fake smile and steps down from her podium with as much poise and grace that it would make Miller proud. That's what she was going for anyway but then she trips and falls flat on her face on live TV.

 

“Oh, shit!” Marcus coughs into his microphone, then remembers himself. “Sorry about that folks.”

 

Diana mutters, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “That was graceful.”

 

Clarke hasn't got time to let the crimson reach her cheeks so she just jumps up, brushes herself off and strides towards the front of the stage to receive her sash from Indra. 

 

Marcus sighs, smile back in place as if it was never off his face. “That must have hurt. But she's up and at it.”

 

“So the Top Ten have been chosen for this years Miss United States Pageant.” Diana croons. “We'll be right back with tonight's Swimsuit Competition.”

 

\---

 

“So, I checked out Diana Sydney like you asked.” Jasper begins as he helps Bellamy to unload all their suitcases from the black car that had taken them to the airport. 

 

Bellamy looks up. “Anything?”

 

Jasper sighs, “Not even a single traffic ticket.”

 

“She's a Model Citizen. Beauty contestant, pageant director, loving mum.” Monty rattles off as he slams the boot shut.

 

“Wait a minute. She's married?” Bellamy scowls.

 

“Widow. One son.” Jasper confirms.

 

Monty sighs. “Yeah and he's a snivelling, obsequious weasel of a human being.”

 

Bellamy looks more confused than ever. “Right so let me get this straight. You know her son?”

 

“So do you.” Monty nods. “It's John.”

 

“As in her assistant John? Asshole John? Creepy I’m going to lech over Clarke John?”

 

“One and the same.”

 

He frowns. “She never mentioned anything. Anything come up on the CCH?”

 

Jasper shakes his head. “Nothing on John Murphy, I'm afraid.”

 

“There wouldn't be, would there?” Miller interjects, making his way over to the plane. “His name is Sydney. He changed it to cover his, uh, many indiscretions.”

 

“Wait. How do you know that?” Bellamy asks, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 

Miller smirks. “I've been around this pageant for many years. I could shock you with the intimate details I'm privy to.”

 

\---

 

 

Clarke's busy trying to get out of her bikini and lace up her costume for her water glass performance. She sees Raven across the room and remembers the present she'd managed to get for her. 

 

“Hey Raven,” she smiles, handing the other girl a bag. “I got you something.”

 

Raven smiles and then full on beams when she empties the bag and finds a pair of pyrotechnic batons ready for her act. “Oh, Clarissa...I couldn't – do you really think I could?”

 

“Hey! You ate Pizza, you're wild. Come on, you're going to be great.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

\---

 

 

Bellamy runs up the stairs to the arena, Miller hot on his heels.

 

One of the members of security steps out in front of him. “I'm going to need to see your ticket, sir?”

 

“Federal officer.” Bellamy barks, pulling out his badge. “Will this do?”

 

“I'm, uh, with him.” Miller shrugs, running in after him.

 

They make their way through the rest of the building in a similar manner, Bellamy flashing his badge to anyone that stood in his way of getting to Clarke and Miller dutifully following him, pointing him in all the right directions.

 

They reach the backstage area and a lady carrying a clipboard extends her arm, “Excuse me Gentlemen, you can't go in-”

 

Miller flashes her a smile.

 

“Oh, Nathan hi.” She smiles, retracting her arm.

 

“He's with me.” he gestures to Bellamy and then heads off in the direction of the dressing rooms.

 

Bellamy pauses, then turns. “Wait. I'm not ' _ with _ him' with him.”

 

“Come on, muffin.” Miller calls over his shoulder. Bellamy makes a mental note to strangle him later.

 

Clarke's watching the other girls performing their talents, nerves fluttering away in her stomach, when she hears a familiar voice.

 

“Hey, Griffin.”

 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, spinning around so fast she nearly trips over her own feet. She fights the urge to throw herself into his arms, although she's not sure why that's her first reaction. 

 

Bellamy pulls her away from the stage. “Listen, Clarke, I think you might have been right. Murphy is Diana Sydney's son.”

 

“What disgusting, perverted Murphy? I'm going to creep out all the girls here Murphy?”

 

“Yeah but he cleared under another name. I ran a new CCH. He's got DUI, assault, even a weapons charge.”

 

“So, what, are we doing full deployment now?” she asks, hand unconsciously checking for her badge which was currently tucked into her stockings.

 

He sighs, “Jaha still didn't want to hear about it. It's just us now, Princess. We've got to go find him.”

 

“You're up next, New Jersey.” calls the woman with the clipboard.

 

Clarke rushes after her. “Hang on a second, I gotta get my glasses.”

 

Pulling back the curtain, Clarke feels her heart sink. The other girls are quite literally drinking her talent right in front of her.

 

“Hey! What about my talent?” She cries, shoeing the girls away from the glasses that had been set aside for her performance.

 

Bellamy rakes a hand through his curls, “You got to make it into the Top Five!”

 

“Can you whistle?” Miller asks.

 

“No!”

 

“Make hand puppets?”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“One year I had a girl who rearranged furniture?” even he doesn't look convinced.

 

“You said it yourself, all I have is sarcasm and a gun.” She sighs.

 

“Yeah, that and a right hook.” Bellamy snarks. H may have only been joking but maybe, just maybe that wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

 

“And now, the musical stylings of Clarissa Lou Freebush.” Before she has time to think of a better plan she hears her act being announced over the tannoy system and she's walking out onto the stage. 

 

She waves a nervous hand at the audience. “Good evening. I'm sorry, I know that the program says I'm supposed to play the water glasses for you but, well the girls got dehydrated.” there's a round of polite laughter at this. “So, I thought to myself maybe I could utilise this platform to ensure that all women have a basic knowledge of self-defense. So in order to show you this, I'm gonna need a little help. I would like to bring out my assistant, Bellamy.”

 

She looks to the side of the stage and motions for Bellamy to join her on the stage. He looks a little reluctant but if she's going to make Top Five then he's got no choice. She coughs. “My assistant, Bellamy!”

 

This time he actually takes the hint and walks over to join her on the stage, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

 

She mumbles a quick “Thanks, I owe you one.”

 

“In some cases, Ladies, your attacker might come at you in a frontal assault.” Clarke waits for him to make a move, then she gives him an apologetic smile before ramming the heel of her hand straight into his nose. “Use the heel of your hand and thrust upwards with as much force as you can. This will cause the nose to break and your assailant's eyes to tear, giving you a chance to get away.”

 

Bellamy shoots her a warning look.

 

“All right. Let's say your assailant comes at you from behind.” she smiles at the audience, standing with her back to Bellamy and bracing herself for an attack that never comes. She turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow as a challenge. “Come on! Attack me!” She whispers.

 

“Um no. I'd rather not get my ass kicked on television.”

 

She turns to the audience, “ Bellamy looks a little scared. Maybe he needs a little encouragement.” she stage whispers and winks at the crowd before her. 

 

The audience erupt with applause and cheers for him and she hears him let out a resigned sigh before coming at her. She anticipates his moves, of course, like she always does, and sends him flying over her shoulder and crashing onto the stage shoulder first.

 

Clarke can't fight the smug grin that resides on her lips when she hears a man in the audience cheer. “She's kicking his ass!”

\---

 

Backstage, Octavia and some of the girls were gathered around the crown, each trying to outdo each other with the lengths they'd all gone to in order to take their place in the competition, when Diana came over to join them.

 

“Ladies, ladies, you can't be arguing over the crown all night, why don't you go off and get yourselves a drink. I think you've earned one.” she smiles, shooting the girls a warning look when they don't depart immediately..

 

“My God, that is disgraceful.” Diana declares inspecting the crown. “John! Come here and see if you can get it to really shine.” 

 

\---

 

“Now, if all else fails, go for the four sensitive areas of the body. But just remember to 'sing'. S-I-N-G.” Clarke points to each corresponding part on Bellamy's body. She then goes on to fully demonstrate. “Solar plexus, Instep, Nose, Groin! Sing.”

 

Again, the crowd roar in applause and Clarke thinks that she might actually have done enough to keep herself in the competition. At least, she hopes she has. She needs to make sure she's in the final so that there's someone there to protect the girls.

 

Once the applause has died down, Kane makes his way to centre stage and turns to face one of the cameras that’s panning in from above the stage. He sends a dazzling smile into the lens. “When we return, we'll find out who those lucky Final Five are.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By now I assume you guys expect a long wait and for that I'm sorry but work. That's it.
> 
> Here's the penultimate chapter to one of the favourite things I've written in a while. I've got another AU in the works which I'm excited about so stay tuned.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments so far, it brightens up my day when I get an email from ao3 :)
> 
> Love to all, I hope your day for a good one!


	10. He prefers it when they don't get along

Bellamy pulls her off to the side as soon as the On Air sign switches off. “Come along, Princess, let's go find John. We don't have time to just be waiting around.”

 

“You take left. I'll take this side.” she gestures to the right, arm flying down to find her spare pair of cuffs strapped to her thigh.

 

“Not a chance.” Miller commands, stepping out in front of her. “Evening gown, now.”

 

Clarke scowls at him and Bellamy stands behind her arms folded across his chest. They make quite the pair. “Come on, I really don't have time to get changed right now. We've got things to do.”

 

“She's right, this bomb could be anywhere – we need to find it.” Bellamy frowns.

 

“I think I preferred it when you two didn't get along.” Miller rolls his eyes. “But if you go wandering off now, you'll get disqualified and you won't have full access to the building. It's up to you two.” he stands, hands on hips and eyebrow firmly raised.

 

“Looking to you, Princess.” Bellamy looks to her, waiting for her to make the call.

 

“Fine.” she bites, heading over to her dressing table, “But I am _not_ happy about this.”

 

\---

 

“Ladies! In one moment, five of you will be one step closer to the crown.” Marcus announces once they've all filed back out onto the stage and the show has returned from it's commercial break. 

 

Diana then takes over, holding out a silver envelope before revealing the results. “And one of those lucky final five is California!”

 

A small fan fare plays and then Marcus is reading from his Autocue. “Anya Washington is a music major, in her spare time she practices survival skills and is a keen fan of fencing.”

 

“Next up is Rhode Island!” Diana announces.

 

“Raven Reyes is a mechanics major, she hopes to become one of the youngest mechanics to visit the National Space Station.”

 

“Our third finalist is...New York!”

 

Octavia is then walking forward, fuchsia gown billowing out behind her. “Octavia Blake, is a pharmaceutical major. She is a fan of the outdoors and hates small spaces.”

 

“New Jersey!” Diana calls, failing to cover the sour expression currently residing on her face.

 

“Clarke, it's you. Go!” Monroe tells her, patting her on the shoulder.

 

Kane's smile is somewhat more believable and he sends her a thumbs up from behind his cue cards. “Clarissa Lou Freebush hopes to become a Doctor, she plans to earn her degree from Ark University.”

 

Clarke can't believe it, for whatever reason the judges have warmed to her and she's made it into the final against all odds. She smiles, wide and true, a blush creeping up onto her cheeks as she steps down from her podium, feeling a rush of pride as she strides past the other girls. This time she manages to make her way to the front of the stage without falling flat on her face or otherwise embarrassing herself.

 

“You go, Clarissa Lou!” Bellamy shouts from the side of the stage, she turns and catches his eye just as she's reached her marker at the front of the stage. For some reason that only deepens the blush on her cheeks and she has to look away before she makes an idiot of herself.

 

“And our lucky fifth, and final, finalist is...” he pauses for effect and even from the front of the stage, Clarke can feel the nervous energy oozing from the remaining girls standing behind her. “Texas!”

 

“Monroe Wright is a psychology major, she's an avid fan of Sci-fi and as a child achieved a black belt in both karate and judo.”

 

There's a final round of applause as Monroe makes her way to join Clarke and the other girls, smile radiant and walk strong, her crimson gown grazing her knees. 

 

Marcus then turns to face the remaining girls, “Commiserations and thank you, ladies. You were all magnificent.”

 

The next quarter of an hour was a blur of touch ups and dress changes – why they needed to change so often was beyond Clarke, if they really wanted to convince people that this was a scholarship programme they should abolish all unnecessary changes...and the swimsuit contest.

 

Clarke only has a few minutes to compose herself before she's scrutinised in front of the nation by the pageant hosts. The question round is more than likely the round which she'll excel in – he's always been better with words than she has acting like the girls she's beginning to feel like – but it's also the round where most can go wrong. They only have to ask her one tricky question and she could blow her cover and endanger everyone sitting in the arena. She can't afford to forget herself now.

 

Miller gives her a few quick pointers before she's rounded up along with the other girls and ushered onto the stage. Well they would be pointers if his speech had been more than “Whatever you do, Clarke, don't be yourself.”

 

They each sit on a tall bar stool (there might be a proper name for it, but that's the best way that Clarke can think to describe them) but they aren't at all comfortable and she can't stop fidgeting. She's almost too distracted trying to balance on the stool and get comfortable that she nearly doesn't hear Diana directing the next question towards her.

 

“Uh, Miss New Jersey?”

 

“Sorry, Miss Sydney, would you mind repeating the question?” she smiles, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

 

“I said, as you may know, there are many who consider the Miss United States pageant to be outdated and _anti_ -feminist.” She puts particular emphasis on the last two words and Clarke knows this question is designed to trip her up. “What would you say to them?”

 

“Well, Diana, I would have to say, that I used to be one of them.” she looks up and then out into the audience. “And then...And then I came here and I realized how wrong that I had been, how wrong that anyone with that mindset is. These women, they're all well-educated and truly wonderful people that are just trying to make a difference in the world. We've all become really good friends, despite what I thought when I first started out in the competition. Now, I know we all secretly hope the other one will trip and fall on her face - wait a minute, I've already done that!” She pauses and there's a laugh that ripples throughout the crowd. “But, at the end of the day, this experience has been one of the most rewarding and liberating experiences of my life.”

 

“My God.” Miller mutters to Bellamy. “I did it.”

 

But then she starts to speak again.

 

Her blue eyes turn steely. “And if  _ anyone _ tries to hurt one of my new friends then I would take them out. I would make them suffer so much, they'd wish they were never born. And if they ran, I would hunt them down.” she pauses again and smiles sweetly, turning back to the pageant hosts. “Thank you, Diana.”

 

\---

 

 

“Good luck, ladies.” Indra, last years winner, is stood amongst the girls wishing them all good luck. Clarke can't imagine the tattooed woman before her would have been a supporter of pageants but she's heard enough about her from Octavia to know that she'd been the first winner in a long time to enter purely for the scholarship money and win even though she'd refused to partake in the swimsuit part of the contest and had chosen hand to hand contact as her talent.

 

All the girls are gathered around her, but Clarke finds herself stood off to the side racking her brains for any clue as to how she can work out where and when this attack is likely to happen. She can't waste a minute, there could be as little as a few seconds left at any given moment, but she doesn't feel as if she's any closer to finding out what Sydney and her son are up to. 

 

“Where's the crown?” Octavia asks excitedly, peering over the older woman’s shoulder. “I wanted to, uh, rub it for luck.”

 

Indra smiles kindly at the young girl, “John took it to get it polished, but don't worry I'll have it by the time they announce the winner.”

 

That's when it all seems to fall in place for her. There's now way that at this time all the preparations for the crown wouldn't have already been done – heck this whole operation was nearly as complicated as one of their FBI procedures...“My God! It's the crown!”

 

Miller couldn't look more proud. “Yes, it is. You can taste it now can't you?”

 

“No, no, no! Not the-- This in the-” 

 

“Finale positions Ladies.” one of the show runners calls, before hurrying off muttering into her headset.

 

“Yes.” Miller beams. “Wear the crown. Be the crown. You _are_ the crown.”

 

“No that's not what I mean! Where's Bellamy I need to tell him....” she shouts back as she's being pulled towards the stage by Raven.

 

The other girls smiles at her, winking. “I'm sure you can tell him after Clarke, come on, the crown waits or no girl.”

 

\---

 

“And now, the moment of truth and beauty. The envelope, please.” Marcus beams, glancing over to the five girls standing in the middle of the stage. 

 

They're stood, each in their own spotlight, holding hands waiting for one of their names to be read out. Most of the girls as still, anticipation surrounding them, but Clarke is stood on the end of the row trying desperately to catch Bellamy's eye from where he's stood just next to the stage door.

 

He looks up just in time and she tries to mouth to him “It's. In. The. Crown.”

 

“What?” he mimes back, shrugging his shoulders.

 

“The bomb. It's in the crown.” she tries to make each word clearer, pausing after each word.

 

“Do I like your gown? Yeah, you look beautiful.”

 

She could punch him. She glances over to Marcus and sees that all attention is still on him. In a last ditch attempt she holds her hands up to her head, trying to make a crown shape. “The crown.”

 

Clarke can see the moment when the realisation hits him, the colour drains from his face and he looks from side to side, frantic. Before she can say anything else he's already off and running. All she can do now is wait, wait and hope he can do something to help.

 

There's a small drum roll, before Diana steps up to the microphone. “The fourth runner-up is...Miss California!”

 

The spotlight surrounding Anya turns off and there's a polite round of applause.

 

“The third runner-up is...New York!”

 

Octavia's light goes off and then so does Monroe's, until it's just between Clarke and Raven.

 

She can hear Bellamy arguing with one of the security guards, he goes to pull out his badge but the other guy isn't having any of it. Bellamy makes to leave, fainting backwards, before punching the guy in the face. “Drop it, okay, I'm FBI!”

 

“This is it.” Marcus begins, taking the envelope from Diana. “The moment. One of these two ladies will wear the crown.”

 

Clarke's way too distracted by Bellamy to even be paying attention.

 

The guard gets back up, shouting at him, pulling out his gun and pointing it right in Bellamy's face. “Listen to me, don't you think I haven't heard that one a million times over!”

 

“I'm gonna reach for my badge, real slow.” Bellamy sighs.

 

“You do, and you're dead. Got that?”

 

Clarke's heart is pounding so hard she thinks that it's either going to leap right out of her throat or she's going to have some sort of heart attack. She can't do anything to help him but Bellamy needs to get past this guard he needs to get by and find Murphy.

 

Then the chaos begins.

 

“The first runner-up, who will have to take the winner's place if, for any reason, she cannot fulfil her duties is...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your patience! I was inspired by yesterdays episode and decided that I wanted to get this story finished as quickly as possible in order to work on some new works for the fandom. :) This is the penulitmate chapter now so I hope you've all enjoyed yourselves so far. This is unbeta'd as are all my works so I'm sorry for any mistakes. 
> 
> All the usual love and thanks from me :)


	11. Suddenly very aware and proud of her breasts

“New Jersey! Which means...” Clarke can already feel the panic rising, knowing that she has such a limited amount of time to act. She can't let Raven take that crown, she can't allow the other to be in that sort of danger – not on her watch. “...our new Miss United States is....”

 

There's a drum roll that rumbles across the arena, even though the outcome of the vote is already clear. She turns to Raven, tugging on the other girls arm. “Raven do not take that crown. Okay?”

 

“What?” Raven asks, pointing to her ears. “I can't hear you.”

 

Diana takes a deep breath, turning towards the camera. “Rhode Island's Raven Reyes!”

 

The stadium bursts into applause and cheers echo in Clarke's ears as Indra makes her way towards Raven, crown in hand. Fireworks are starting to go off around the edges of the stage which is just another obstacle to Clarke's attempt to get Raven to understand her and to keep all the girls and all of the audience safe from the bomb. It also doesn't help that each explosion sounds like a miniature detonation, sending Clarke's nerves into overdrive.

 

“Don't take the crown. Trust me.” She shouts, trying to place herself in between Raven and the crown. She _has_ to get the other girl to believe her but the brunette can't hear what she's saying and now the other girls are beginning to flood onto the stage to congratulate the brand new Miss United States.

 

Marcus moves forward across the stage, a spotlight casting a long shadow behind him as he steps onto a raised platform, and begins to sing as Indra places the crown firmly on top of Ravens head.

 

“ _She's beauty and she's grace. She's queen of fifty states.”_

 

Amongst the disruption, Clarke realises that she's lost sight of Bellamy so she doesn't know what's going on with him, all she can do is try and push her way through the rest of the girls. (She's glad she's had a lot of practice using her elbows like this when she's been sent out on a coffee run, so she manages to force her way back to the front of the stage in next to no time.)

 

“ _She's elegance and taste. She's Miss United States.”_

 

She wishes that Kane of all people would make it easier for her to get to Raven – he's the only one on stage that knows who she really is but he continues to stand at the front singing into the camera rather than trying to help her out. She's heard of the 'show must go on' but when lives are at stake, Clarke thinks there are more important things to worry about than making sure he hits all the right notes but he's a man that never seems to have his priorities sorted. 

 

“ _Hold your crown up high. Raise it to the sky”_

 

“Raven give me the crown right now. You don’t understand!” she shouts and she can hear some of the other girls shouting that she's going berserk, that she's obsessed with winning and can't bear to let anyone else walk away with the crown but that's just not the case at all.

 

Clarke hears a loud thump, then, causing her to spin around, nearly tripping on the hem of her dress. Out of the corner of her eye she catches sight of Murphy perched atop the giant mock lady liberty statue, black box in hand, and she knows that now she really doesn't have a minute to hesitate. All she can do is get the crown away from Raven until Bellamy can find a way to put a stop to Murphy.

 

She can hear Diana shouting from her position off to the left. “Get her off the stage!”

 

Octavia and Monroe run out to hold her back, restraining Clarke's arms, just as she's about to prize the crown from raven's head “No! No, you don't understand...I just need to get to the crown!”

 

“Oh, we understand Clarissa – we all worked hard for this too.” Monroe scowls, tightening her grip around Clarke's elbows.

 

“ _She stands for all that's good. She loves her neighbourhood. She's friends with everyone she meets.”_

 

There's no time to even feel guilty as she shakes off Octavia, sending her tumbling backwards onto her bum, and then rams the heel of her hand into Monroe's nose – probably breaking the other girls nose, but she has more important things to worry about.

 

“ _She's beauty and she's grace.”_ Marcus looks over to see Monroe clutching her nose and Clarke shaking off her fist. “She'll punch you in the face?” 

 

Amidst the commotion on the stage, Clarke hears Bellamy calling her name and she sees as he reaches Murphy and lads a punch square against the other man's jaw. She can only watch as Murphy regains his balance and uses the momentum to lunge towards Bellamy, sending the pair tumbling down the stairs, the detonator designed for the bomb clattering over the side. Even though she knows he can handle himself, she can't help but feel a prickle of worry creeping up her spine as she watches the two men struggling but she can't stop or she'll miss her chance.

 

She then dashes forward, fending off blows from Raven as the other girl beats Clarke with her bouquet of roses, and finally manages to rip the tiara from her head. Clarke starts to examine the crown, there must be a switch or something somewhere, surely to god. She knows she doesn't have much time as the two men continue to wrestle and she can tell that even though Bellamy has the upper hand it's becoming a struggle for him to try and keep the device away from Murphy's grasp.

 

“ _She's elegance and taste. She's Miss United States.”_

 

“Clarke!” Bellamy shouts her and she barely hears him over the noise of the crowd, but she can see the panic in his eyes even from this distance. “Behind you!” She whips around, nearly tripping over her dress and sees Diana holding the device and about to detonate the bomb.

 

Before she has time to think better of it, Clarke lances the crown as high as she can into the air, watching as it lands on top of the replica Lady Liberty. It's a matter of seconds before it explodes, sending shrapnel and huge chucks of polystyrene raining down towards the stage and out over the audience.

 

She hears a shriek from her right and manages to catch Raven as she faints backwards into her arms. Handing the girl over to Octavia, once she was sure that Raven was okay, Clarke pulls out the set of cuffs from her hip holster and runs off after Diana's retreating form.

 

\---

 

 

The stadium had been evacuated and the authorities were called and Clarke and her team are gathered on the front steps, waiting for the squad car that was due to arrive to take Miss Sydney into custody.

 

She looks over and can see Marcus giving an interview to a news crew, priorities seemingly skewed. “ I was right in the middle of  _ my _ song!”

 

Clarke's been listening to Diana rant and rave for the past half an hour whilst she's been detained and she finds it laughable when the older women starts to protest her innocence. “You've got nothing on me. This is absolutely ridiculous.”

 

She's about to bite out a witty retort when the car pulls up at the bottom of the steps. She pulls Diana up by the arm and motions for Bellamy to take Murphy over to the second car which had parked up behind the first.

 

“Do you know what else is ridiculous? Where you're going, they'll love to meet a former beauty queen.” Miller sneers as Clarke begins to lead Diana down the stairs.

 

Clarke snorts. “When he says meet, he means M-E-A-T.”

 

“Miss Griffin, you don't understand.” Clarke can feel her eyes rolling involuntarily as she pushes Miss Sydney into the back of the squad car. “All I'm guilty of is trying to make the world a more beautiful place. Look at yourself. When I met you, Dante Wallace looked better in a dress. But now you're a lady and I did that for you.”

 

Clarke scowls. “Actually Mr Miller did that, and a team of highly specialized federal manicurists and...um, and...uh all the other people who make you beautiful.” she frowns. “You know what, just get in the damn car.”

 

“Do you honestly think you saved something today? All you did was to destroy the dream of young women all over the country.”

 

“Oh really?” she deadpans. “Their dream is to get blown up, is it? You've got a really good shot at that insanity plea Diana.”

 

“I earned it – all of it – and what do I get in return? Years of bitching beauty queens and then I'm fired the second I get too old for them! They steal my life, they steal my beauty pageant.”

 

Clarke smiles. “Actually I think you'll find this is not a beauty pageant. It's a  _ scholarship _ program.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Diana grumbles.

 

“It's always _yes_ never _yeah_.” Clarke snarks as she slams the door. She takes a deep breath before slapping the roof of the car and watching as it pulls away and heads towards the local police station.

 

“Enjoy running the Miss San Antonio Women's Correctional Facility Pageant! Get it?” she calls after the car then turns to Bellamy, who's standing not too far off, ash and sweat covering his face. “The Women's Correctional – ”

 

He smiles at her, running a had through his hair. “That was good work you did today, Clarke.”

 

“Right back at you.” she smiles back and holds her hand out ready for a high five. Bellamy obliges her, slapping their hands together, but then leaves his hand settled against hers.

 

She glances between him and their hands and then watches as he slowly links their fingers together. “We did good here.” he mumbles, his eyes also trained on their interlocked hands.

 

They're close again, which seems to happen a lot recently. It was that odd sort of closeness that makes her heart race more than when she had a bomb quite literally in her hands.

 

“So, how does it feel, Princess?” he asks her, lips tilting into an effortless smile. For a moment she thinks he's talking about their proximity, the way their hands are still entwined, until he chuckles. “Throwing the rule book out of the window for once?”

 

“Pretty good, actually.” she nods, her cheeks feeling hot despite the evenings chill.

 

Bellamy starts to say something then pauses before starting again. “So, I was thinking -”

 

“That's a bit dangerous isn't it?” Clarke thinks it's easier to fall back into their pattern of snarking at each other. Easier and safer given the way they are still stood well within each others personal space.

 

He gives her a look, using his free hand to rub at the base of his neck, and she has the decency to look a little guilty. “How about when we get back., you know, after we write up our reports and you get all ugly again...” Clarke hopes he doesn't mean that, but the twinkle in his eyes tells her that he's just toying with her. “Maybe we could, uh, go out to dinner or something?”

 

She hopes her surprise isn't written all across her face when she replies, incredulity evident in her voice. “What? Agent Bellamy Blake is asking me out on a  _ date _ ?”

 

“What? No! Just a casual dinner, between friends.” he laughs then, mischievous glint in his eye. “And if we happen to have sex afterwards, then so be it.”

 

“You think I'm gorgeous.” she sing songs. “ You want to date me, love me and marry -”

 

He cuts her off then, dropping her hand and tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let's see how that date goes first shall we?”

 

She can feel the pull between them – if she's honest it's always been there, behind the snide remarks and jokes that were always at the expense of the other – but now it's almost tangible, well within her grasp. He leans forward and rests his forehead against hers and Clarke can feel her heart beating so hard that she's sure he must be able to hear it. She lets her eyelids flutter shut and enjoys the sensation of his breath on her lips. She's fighting the urge to close the gap between them – not wanting to be the one to make the first move – but it's becoming increasingly difficult as she feels the heat of him against her.

 

In the end Clarke doesn't have to worry about that because, before she knows it, their lips are pressed together and his hands are tangling in her hair, bringing her impossibly closer.

 

Their first kiss is symbolic of their entire relationship, neither wanting to give the other any ground or willing to let the other take control. She should probably be much more aware of the audience that she had – TV crews, Federal Agents and pageant contestants all scattered around the courtyard – but she can't find it in herself to care or to even worry about how grossly unprofessional their superiors would find this.

 

The night could have turned out much worse than it did and she's thankful that they managed to keep everyone safe and she's so relieved that she and Bellamy are okay and all of this bubbles straight up to the surface as she parts her lips and allows him to deepen their kiss.

 

\---

 

“A part of you is gonna miss this, you know.” Bellamy muses as they check themselves out of the hotel and walk out into the parking lot. She knows he's teasing by the way his eyes have crinkled and the smile playing on his lips, but in some ways she thinks he's probably right.

 

Clarke shrugs. “I don't know...I guess I'll miss the heels, maybe. They do something for my posture. I'm suddenly very aware and proud of my breasts.” she laughs and pushes out her chest to emphasis her point.

 

“That's funny, me too.” he smirks, not even trying to hide the fact he's staring at her chest underneath his sunglasses.

 

They make it half way across the lot without incident when Miller comes running out of the lobby, calling after them. “Agent Blake! Agent Griffin! Wait a second. Thank God you're still here.”

 

She stops in her tracks and can only think she's forgotten to take the waxing strips he'd left for her to take home.

 

He doubles over, hands on knees, breathing heavily. “There's been an emergency inside the hotel! Somebody found some sort of incendiary device. Come on, quickly!”

 

The familiar feeling of adrenaline pumping through her veins spurs Clarke on as she and Bellamy run back into the hotel.

 

“Excuse me. FBI.” Clarke flashes her badge as she fights her way through the crowd, Bellamy hot on her heels. “Pardon me, coming through.”

 

She pushes her way into one of the conference rooms, flinging the door open but stops, shocked, one step into the room.

 

The room is full of chairs filled with her fellow contestants, not an incendiary device in sight, Raven stood at the front of the room addressing the girls before her. Clarke has a second before the slam shut behind her and they all spin around in their seats, staring at her as she stands in the doorway, badge in hand.

 

Raven beams at her. “She saved the pageant, she saved our lives, and here she is!”

 

The room bursts into applause and she can pick out the faces of the girls she's come to know so well in the crowd. Monroe waves at her, the bandages on her nose making Clarke feel guilty, and even Anya graces her with a rare smile.

 

“Yeah, this is not gonna work for me.” she mutters, flushing red and spinning around on her heel ready to leave.

 

“Come on up Clarke.” Raven calls, gesturing for her to come and take the microphone.

 

“What? I can't go up there!” She turns to Bellamy expecting some sympathy. She gets none. In fact, he's blocking her only exit route.

 

“This was his idea, Clarissa Lou.” Miller interjects, unapologetically shoving her forward. “I'd never get you in here unless you had the chance to shoot someone, now get up there.”

 

Clarke glowers at him. “You'll get yours, you ass.” she mutters as she trudges to the front on the room. Sensible shoes shuffling against the floor instead of the click of heels that she's grown accustomed to.

 

As she makes her way up to the podium she meets Raven's eye and can't help but return the grin that the brunette's currently sporting. “Ladies and gentlemen, Agent Clarke Griffin of the FBI!”

 

She gives a small wave to the crowd and they applaud again, a deep red blush creeping onto her cheeks. Once the clapping as died down, Clarke considers her job done so she makes to step down and join Bellamy and Miller at the back of the room to watch the rest of Raven's speech.

 

“Not so fast!” Raven calls, catching Clarke's arm and pulling her back up to the podium. She's not sure what's going on but she looks over to Bellamy who shoots her a thumbs up so she stays put, cautiously glancing around the room.

 

“Because even though you're a federal officer, to us, you will always be Clarissa Lou Freebush.” Raven continues. “The nicest, bravest, smartest girl at the pageant and this year's Miss Congeniality!”

 

Clarke can feel tears pricking in her eyes as Raven drapes a sash over her shoulders and Octavia jumps up from her seat and presents her with a bunch of flowers.

 

“Way to go Princess!” Bellamy cheers above the noise of the room and Clarke smiles as she notices Monty and Jasper creeping in, taking their place next to him, the pair of them clapping and cheering for her too.

 

“Thanks, I don't really know what to say.” she shrugs, wiping her eyes on her sleeve (she can practically hear Millers eyes rolling as she does it). “Except for, uh, I can't wear this at work. I never thought anything like this would happen to me, especially not when I’m wearing these kind of shoes. In fact, I kind of hoped it wouldn't.” she laughs. “But now that it has I just want to say that...I'm very, very honoured. And moved. And truly touched.”

 

There's clapping again but she hasn't finished so she coughs into the microphone.

 

“And, one more thing, I uh really do want world peace.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thanks for all the patience you guys have shown since I started this little project all those months ago now. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter and that it lived up to expectations! 
> 
> Prompts welcomed for the future, 
> 
> Much love, Lucy :)


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